


turn back the clock (and I'll try again in the morning)

by madasthesea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Action, Angst, BAMF Peter Parker, Blood, Brief discussion of suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Hand-wavy magic, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Minor Injuries, On the Run, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Genius, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, School Gun Violence, Science Inaccuracies, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Tony Stark Has A Heart, injuries, pop culture references, references bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: Peter gets stuck in a time loop. In it, he lives through some of his worst nightmares, only to wake up that morning and have no one remember. He needs Tony to help him get through.And if that isn't bad enough, his identity is revealed over and over, every day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! I've been waiting to post this sucker for months!
> 
> This is for the Irondad Big Bang and I have had the awesome privilege of working with two amazing artists: the-reverse-mermaid (Bean_reads_fanfic) and Starlight-sparks. Their gorgeous, gorgeous art will be featured in later chapters!
> 
> Notice that tags will be added, and any warning for the next chapters will be in the notes for that chapter!

Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. Squinting open one eye, he groped for it half-blind. The cracked screen showed the time, 6:28, two minutes before his alarm went off, and a text from Ned.

Peter groaned as he unlocked his phone, opening the message.

_Ned: holy crap it’s happening!!! ITS ACTUALLY HAPPENING_

His phone buzzed again, another text from Ned, this time with a link to an article about the Kenobi movie being confirmed.

_Peter: adflkhxv this is the best day of my life_

He followed it up with a gif of a woman saying “I’m so used to giving and now I get to receive” before turning off his alarm as it went off and getting out of bed.

School was the same as ever. His chemistry teacher gave them a pop quiz which Peter passed with no problem, Flash tripped him in the hallway and Peter had to force himself to drop all his books and sprawl on the grimy floor. The news of the Kenobi movie kept him and Ned in a good mood, and they chatted about it over lunch. Immediately after school ended, Peter ducked into an alley, changed into his suit, and got to patrolling.

It was a fairly boring evening. He stopped a car accident, caught two purse-snatchers, helped a few lost tourists. He went home for dinner, a rather bland pork roast with mashed potatoes, and then went out again.   

It was nearing his curfew when he heard what sounded like miniature explosions coming from a nearby alley. Excitement peaking, Peter swung over to the sounds, perching on a roof to get a better look.

There was a figure in the alley, muttering to itself as it made complicated gestures. Little circles of light kept appearing and disappearing quickly, emitting fizzing, sparking noises. Occasionally, two of them would collide with a bang and then vanish.

Peter wasn’t sure what to do. That person was clearly doing magic—he’d seen enough of it first hand from Dr. Strange. And while not necessarily illegal, something about the scene made the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand up.

“Karen, what’s he doing?” Peter whispered.

“I believe he is performing some sort of ritual, Peter.”

“That’s bad, right? ‘Ritual’ isn’t usually used for good things.”

“I’m not sure,” Karen admitted. Peter sighed.

“Ok, well... let’s go ask.” He leaped from the roof, using a web to stop his fall at the last minute, landing silently behind the man.

“Hey, man,” Peter called. The guy whirled. Peter thought he’d just surprised him, but then he shot a swirl of purple colored light at Peter.

“Ok, so I take it you’re a bad guy.” Peter dodged the light easily, backflipping onto a wall and sticking there in a crouch. “Good guys usually ask for a picture or something.”

The man still didn’t speak, just sent another brightly colored wave of magic.

“Don’t give Harry Potter a bad name like this, Mr. Wizard Guy,” Peter reasoned. He shot a web, pinning one of the man’s wands to his side. He smiled behind his mask, but the smile fell when Merlin—that’s what Peter decided to call him—spat a few words and the webbing immediately melted off.

“Woah. Dr. Strange didn’t know that one.”

Peter tried just using _more_ webbing, leaping around the alley walls and pouring half a bottle’s worth of fluid on Merlin, but the spell worked just as effectively.

“Crud.” Peter tried to take a moment to regroup, figure out a plan, but Merlin kept firing spell after spell and Peter didn’t have a second to think, just had to react on instinct and dodge wildly.

One of his bounds took him to a fire escape. Peter eyed the rusting metal ladder, then shrugged and grabbed it, ripping it from the wall.

He dodged another bolt of light, and hurled himself at Merlin. Bending the metal was easy with his strength, and after a moment he had one irate wizard tied up.

“Ha. Wizards: zero. Superheroes: one,” Peter cheered. “Karen, place a call to the police, will you?”

“Done, Peter.”

“Maybe I should call Dr. Strange,” Peter mused. ”Does he even have a phone, though? That’d kind of ruin the mystical sorcerer aesthetic he has going.”

Peter looked down, concentrating on changing his web-fluid vials. He shouldn’t have. In the space of a heartbeat, there was the groan of bending metal, then a blinding orange flash that sent Peter soaring backward. He slammed into a dumpster and fell forward to the ground, unconscious.

He woke up slowly, pain filtering through his back where he hit the metal dumpster.

“Ow,” he groaned, sitting up slowly. “Karen, what happened?”

“You had a fight with a wizard. He got away. Don’t you remember?”

“No. Do I have a concussion?” He asked. He’d had concussions before and it didn’t feel like one now. He hoped he didn’t—there was a protocol for concussions that meant Mr. Stark would be alerted and Peter would have to spend the night in the Medbay.

“I don’t have any indication that you hit your head, Peter, apart from the forgetfulness. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark anyway?”

“No, that’s... that’s alright. What time is it?”

“It’s ten minutes to midnight.”

“Shoot, May will be pissed if I miss curfew,” Peter cursed, forgetting about the fight with the wizard as he hurried to swing home.

He got home with three minutes to spare. He poked his head out of his room long enough to let May know he was home and brush his teeth, then changed into pajamas and collapsed on his bed. He was exhausted. His eyes fell shut just as the digital alarm clock clicked over to 12:00.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. Squinting open one eye, he groped for it half-blind. The cracked screen showed the time, 6:28, two minutes before his alarm went off, and a text from Ned.

Peter groaned as he unlocked his phone, opening the message.

_Ned: holy crap it’s happening!!! ITS ACTUALLY HAPPENING_

His phone buzzed again, another text from Ned, this time with a link to an article about the Kenobi movie being confirmed.

Peter sat up on his bed, read the message again. Why was Ned freaking out about stuff they already knew?

_Peter: Uh, yeah, dude. You told me yesterday, we talked about it all day at school_

_Ned: What?? The news broke like an hour ago man what are you talking about?_

Peter huffed, scrolling up in the conversation to screenshot the texts from the day before. The last one was from Sunday afternoon, Ned asking if he was going Spider-Manning that day. Peter frowned at his phone, exiting the app and opening it again to see if it just had a glitch. As he did, he noticed that his phone still read yesterday’s date.

_Peter: my phone is freaking out, it’s saying it’s still Monday_

_Ned: it IS monday_

_Ned: did you get hit in the head again on patrol??? you know youre supposed to tell Iron Man if you get hurt, dude_

Peter’s confusion only grew, but his alarm interrupted his thoughts. He shook his head, turned off the alarm, and threw his phone on his bed. He’d talk to Ned at school.

He showered, dressed, and are breakfast, all while puzzling over his conversation with Ned.

It had definitely been Monday yesterday. But Ned, and his phone, and May when he asked her, all said it was Monday again.

Peter ran through all the things he’d done the day before—school, patrol. The usual stuff. He tried to think about the things that had happened on patrol and found that the details were fuzzy. He knew he’d been knocked unconscious at some point, but couldn’t remember how or who did it. He’d have to ask Karen to remind him.

 

When he got to school, he found Ned waiting at his locker.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Ned asked, shining his phone flashlight directly into Peter’s eyes.

“Ah, Ned,” Peter snapped, slamming his eyes shut. “Sensitive eyes, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Peter squinted open one eye, looking blearily at Ned.

“’s fine. And no, I don’t think so. I did pass out at some point, but usually I can feel concussions for a couple days,” Peter explained, entering his locker combo and yanking it open.

“Huh. And you still think yesterday was Monday?” Ned asked, looking genuinely interested, not like he thought Peter was crazy, which he appreciated.

“Well, I mean... yeah, I remember coming to school and everything. But it must just be like some crazy déjà vu,” Peter said shrugging.

“Maybe you’re developing psychic powers!” Ned gasped in awe.

“Spiders aren’t psychic, dude,” Peter sighed, plowing through the crowd of students toward his Monday home room, no matter how much it felt like he should go to Tuesday classes.

“Were you exposed to gamma radiation?” Ned asked thoughtfully.

“No, Ned.”

“You wouldn’t... see it,” Ned pointed out, but quickly dropped the subject when Peter sent him a withering look.

Peter told himself to just forget the two Mondays in a row thing, and he managed it pretty well until Chemistry.

“Pop quiz!” His teacher announced with glee. Peter sat up, surprised. That was... weird.

The paper landed on the desk in front of him and he looked down, scanning over the questions. They were the same as the ones he’d... dreamt? Had a vision of? He solved the problems by rote, and was the first one to hand his quiz in, earning a glare from Flash. He didn’t care, he was too busy thinking about his Monday problem.

After class, as he was leaving with Ned in tow, still lost in thought, Flash stuck out his foot in the hallway, trying to trip Peter. But Peter was so distracted, he forgot to let himself fall, and instead ended up kicking Flash’s foot so hard the boy’s eyes filled with tears as he hopped on one foot and called Peter a freak.

“Sorry,” Peter stammered, then hurried away.

School seemed to drag on forever, with Flash staring daggers at him and the lectures all eerily familiar. Plus, he was anxious to get into his suit and ask Karen about last night.

Finally, the last bell rang. Peter was up and out of seat almost before it started ringing, but Ned caught him before he could dash out.

“I still think you should tell Mr. Stark about this, Peter,” he said, looking worried.

“I’ll ask Karen what she remembers and then talk to him, alright?” Peter promised. Ned seemed satisfied and waived him onward.

Once Peter was sitting on a random rooftop, his suit snug and familiar around him, Peter finally asked the question that had been on his mind all day, his stomach clenched in anticipation.

“Karen, what day is it?”

“It’s Monday, April 30th, Peter,” she responded cheerily. Peter took a deep breath.

“And what day was yesterday?”

“Sunday, April 29th. Is everything alright?”

Peter sighed deeply. “You don’t have any record of yesterday being Monday too?”

“No. I also can see no signs of tampering with my memory.” She sounded concerned, and Peter was once again momentarily amazed at how much effort Mr. Stark had put into Peter’s AI.

“Play the footage from last night’s patrol,” Peter requested. Sure enough, the Baby-Monitor playback only showed the purse-snatcher and would-be mugger from Sunday night.

“Great, I really am going crazy,” Peter groaned, rubbing at his forehead. He doesn’t understand how he could vividly remember an entire day that never happened. If it was just déjà vu, it was the most intense déjà vu he’s ever had.

Peter thought about his promise to talk to Mr. Stark about it, but it just seemed so stupid. Like he was a kid who couldn’t handle it when things got a little weird. It’s not like there was anything _wrong,_ necessarily. He was probably just overreacting.

“Karen, let’s go fight some bad guys,” Peter announced, pushing down the little twinge of guilt at breaking his promise to Ned. If he asked tomorrow, Peter would tell him that Mr. Stark hadn’t been able to see him.

The first mugger was pretty easy—it was in the same alley as one Peter had stopped on the not-Monday night before, and the fight felt familiar, but Peter was sure that at that point it was just his mind making connections that weren’t there.

Not everything was exactly the same. After helping a cat from a tree, Peter wracked his brain to remember if he’d done that last night, and he hadn’t. It helped ease his nerves, assuring him that he really was just being paranoid today.

He put the whole thing out of his mind as he followed a man into an alley who was harassing a passing girl.

“Man, don’t conform to what the patriarchy wants you to be,” Peter called down from where he was crouched on the wall. “You can be better than that.”

“Spider-Man?” the guy asked, squinting up at him with bleary eyes that made Peter think he was drunk. Ick. Peter hated fighting the drunk ones. One of them had vomited all over him once and it was the grossest thing he’s ever experienced. “Get lost, this is none of your business.”

“It is, actually. You were scaring her. I protect people who are scared.” Peter swung down to the ground. He could hear the girls frantic footsteps rushing across the street a block away. He just had to buy another minute or so, than swing over and escort her home.

“Now, let’s take a second and learn about respecting women, alright?” Peter said. He was going to keep going, but the man reached out both hands and shoved Peter away.

Peter backed up a couple steps, his hands up. “If you’re going to get violent—”

The man advanced again, pushing Peter’s chest with all his might once more. Peter took a few more steps back, trying to avoid an actual fight. “Dude, chill out, ok?”

The alley was closing around Peter, hiding what was happening from passersby. The man walked a few feet forward, Peter fell back.

He didn’t look quite as drunk as Peter had originally thought.

His spider-sense jumped and Peter whirled to find another person appearing out of the shadows.

“Woah, you brought a friend,” Peter remarked.

His spider-sense screamed again, and he turned once again only to suddenly feel a hand come down on his head, grab a fistful of his mask and hair, and pull.

His mask slid off his face, along with a chunk of hair that left his scalp stinging. Before he could react, there was a blinding flash of light and the distinct sound of a camera clicking.

 _Uh-oh_.

He heard footsteps running away, but by the time his eyes had recovered from the light, they were gone. And what was he going to do? Accost them in the middle of the street and break their phones?

He sighed, collected his mask from where it’d been dropped on the ground, and stood.

Looked like he was going to see Mr. Stark after all.

 

Peter hopped up over the balcony railing and walked forward, the door opening for him.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Where’s Mr. St—oh.”

Tony was waiting for him, leaning against the nearby kitchen counter with his arms crossed.

“Um, hi,” Peter greeted awkwardly, reaching up and pulling off his mask. The tender spot at the top of his head stung.

“Well, kid, you’ve sure gotten yourself in a pickle,” Tony said without saying hello. He was eying Peter like he was either sizing him up or checking for injuries.

“You already heard?” Peter asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He twisted his mask in his hands.

“Pete,” Tony started, his tone serious enough to make Peter’s stomach drop with dread. “Everyone’s heard.”

“Wha...”

Tony gestured toward the television behind Peter. He turned to find CNN playing on mute.

SPIDER-MAN’S ULTIMATUM: PAY $10,000 OR HAVE ID REVEALED

The ribbon running underneath the headline was talking about an anonymous call received ten minutes prior, where a man claimed to have a photo of Spider-Man’s face.

Peter’s legs went numb. He swayed and Tony hurried forward and grabbed his elbow to keep him standing.

“Ho—Wha—I don’t have ten thousand dollars,” Peter finally stammered.

To his consternation, Tony chuckled. “Kid, obviously I would pay the money.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter started, but Tony kept talking.

“But that’s only if we decide that that’s the best way to handle this.”

Peter swallowed hard. Tony moved away toward the living room and Peter followed, feeling like the world was crashing down around his ears.

“Is... _is_ there another way?” Peter’s voice trembled. Tony glanced at him and seemed to register how pale he was because his voice was softer when he spoke again.

“Well, in my experience, buddy, it’s never a good idea to give in to blackmailers. The best solution might be to just... let it happen.” Peter sat down heavily. “But either way, we’re not doing anything tonight, ok? You can sleep on it, let them stew in their juices a bit.”

“What if they get tired of waiting and release the picture?”

“So there is a picture,” Tony verified. He nodded jerkily.

“They... they ambushed me, I wasn’t expecting...” Peter trailed off, feeling like an idiot. He let two ordinary people get a jump on him, a superhero, and was now facing the possibility of having his identity revealed to the world because of it.

Tony sighed, patting Peter heavily on the shoulder. Peter couldn’t look at him.

“It’s ok, kid. I’ve planned for this.”

“You have a contingency plan for when I screw up and reveal my identity,” Peter said bitterly, staring at the floor.

He felt Tony’s eyes on him.

“Peter, I have over a thousand contingency plans, ranging from if Hawkeye’s bow breaks to if Cap goes dark side and needs to be taken out, alright? It doesn’t mean I don’t trust you or think you can’t handle this or whatever other angsty crap is running through your head right now. Capiche?”

Peter glanced up and found Tony looking intently at him. “Yes, sir.”

Tony’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, bud, let’s get your mind off this. I’ve got a project I’ve been saving just for you and a stack of pizzas big enough to challenge even your appetite on the way.”

Peter’s stomach was twisting so much that even the thought of pizza didn’t tempt him, but he tried to smile back and stood to follow Tony when something he said came back to Peter.

“Do you have a plan for if I go dark side?” Peter asked, curious.

Tony went rigid so fast Peter heard his spine crack.

“No,” he said, voice hard. Peter regretted asking.

 

Mr. Stark wouldn’t let him go home that night, just in case. It made Peter worry about May, but Mr. Stark assured him that she was under watch and would be fine.

“It’s all going to be ok, kid,” Tony promised as Peter fiddled with the too long sleeves of Tony’s MIT sweatshirt that he was wearing for pajamas. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, Mr. Stark,” Peter called before Tony could walk down the hall. He’d remembered suddenly, his whole... déjà vu, living the same day twice problem.

“Yeah, Pete?” He sounded tired. Peter bit his lip.

“Just, uh... thanks for everything.” It didn’t matter. The day was almost over anyway.

“Anytime, kiddo,” Tony said quietly, offering a small smile before turning and leaving.

Peter settled into his huge guest bed and tried to decide what to do about the identity issue. His eyelids grew heavier as the time ticked on, and as the clock clicked over to midnight, Peter was asleep.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. Squinting open one eye, he groped for it half-blind. The cracked screen showed the time, 6:28, two minutes before his alarm went off, and a text from Ned.

Peter groaned as he unlocked his phone, opening the message.

_Ned: holy crap it’s happening!!! ITS ACTUALLY HAPPENING_

“Oh, man,” Peter whispered to himself. He looked around at what was definitely not Mr. Stark’s guest room where he had gone to sleep, and the ragged t-shirt he had definitely not been in last night.

Hurriedly exiting his messaging app, Peter googled “Spider-Man identity.” The top hit was a Buzzfeed article speculating the Spider-Man was an alien hybrid. There was no evidence of last night’s story, despite the fact it had been covered on every local station and a few national ones.

 _I’m in a time loop_.

It was the only thing that made sense. He’d seen _Groundhog Day_ enough times that he didn’t have to work hard to figure it out.

And just like _Groundhog Day_ , Peter had no idea what started it. Karen had no records, Peter had no memories from that night, and no one else thought that day had even happened.

He thought about Ned urging him to tell Mr. Stark, but... he remembered how tired Tony had looked last night while he’d tried to clean up another one of Peter’s messes. And it’s not like Tony could magically snap his fingers and fix it.

Peter bolted upright in bed. _Magic_.

He needed Dr. Strange.

After he was dressed and had said goodbye to May, pretending he was leaving for school, he stopped dead on the sidewalk. He had... no idea where Dr. Strange lived. Or what his phone number was. Or if he had a phone.

So Peter had to figure out how to get ahold of Dr. Strange without calling Tony and asking him.

He considered for a moment, then thought of his suit in his bag. He grinned.

 

Twenty minutes later, a helicopter was flying over head, filming Spider-Man as he wove around the Brooklyn Bridge spelling out “Dr. Strange” in webbing.

Just as Peter was putting the finishing touches on his design, a glowing circle opened up in the air a few feet away. Peter grinned behind his mask, saluted to the helicopter, and dove into the portal.

“Part of being a sorcerer, Mr. Parker, is keeping a _low profile_. I know with Tony Stark as your mentor that’s a difficult concept to grasp,” Dr. Strange was snapping before Peter had even regained his footing.

“Dr. Strange,” Peter panted. Portals always left him feeling a little dizzy. “I need your help.”

Dr. Strange raised an eyebrow, his cloak shifting around behind him.

“Hi, Cloaky,” Peter greeted, and Dr. Strange’s lip quirked up as he fought a smile.  

“Peter, you have four missed calls from Mr. Stark,” Karen chirped in his ear.

“Later, Karen,” Peter muttered, very aware of Dr. Strange watching him.

“So you need help that you can’t go to Stark for?” He asked. When Peter hesitantly nodded, Dr. Strange sighed. “What’d you get yourself into, Peter?”

Peter looked down at the ground and pulled his mask off. “I... I’m stuck in a time loop. I figured you were the person to ask, since all the time... stuff.”

A shake, and the room around them changed. Peter sat heavily on the armchair suddenly behind him.

“You and I both know the time stone was destroyed. Now tell me everything,” Strange instructed.

“Well, I... two days ago I... went on patrol and I was knocked out, but I don’t remember what did it. But when I woke up the next morning, it was the same day. I woke up to the same text that I’d gotten the day before, I had the same quizzes in school, and no one remembered _anything_. And the same this morning.”

Strange nodded, and the room changed again. Suddenly they were surrounded by bookshelves, the thick tomes on them covered in so much dust that Peter’s nose instantly began tickling.

He pulled a seemingly random book off the shelf.

“Keep talking,” Strange said.

“Umm... so far some things have been exactly the same, like the text I wake up to and Flash trying to trip me. But some things are different too, like something... really big happened yesterday that didn’t happen the first day.”

Strange hummed, then seemed to bounce around the room almost faster than Peter could see.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I can’t find anything like you’re describing.”

Peter’s shoulders drooped. “So... so what do I do?”

Peter apparently looked so dejected that Strange’s cloak floated over to Peter and patted him on the shoulder consolingly.

“I’ll keep looking,” Strange said. “Until the loop resets and I forget, which I assume will be tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ll uh... test that out. Maybe try to stay up all night or something.”

The room switched back to the entryway, the large round window casting multi-colored light on the wooden floor.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try, I suppose. Tell Stark he needs to keep a better eye on you. I’ll get in contact if I find something.”

“Right,” Peter said lamely as he walked out the door. The sidewalk was teeming with people on their way to work.

He sighed, then perked up. He could have some fun with this, really. If anyone was prepped for being stuck in a time loop it was him, the guy who’s seen every episode of Star Trek.

How bad could it be?   


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: canon typical violence, school gun violence, minor injuries
> 
> This chapter's art is by starlight-sparks on tumblr, so go send her some love and appreciation for sharing her wonderful talents!

_He sighed, then perked up. He could have some fun with this, really. If anyone was prepped for being stuck in a time loop it was him, the guy who’s seen every episode of Star Trek. How bad could it be?_

 

* * *

 

 

He patrolled the rest of the day. Ned texted at some point asking where he was and Peter considered telling him all about the time loop. He decided against texting it to him though and resolved to go to school tomorrow to talk to him about it in person.

He tried to remember crimes he stopped as best as he could. He wanted to compare them as the days went by, hoping to find some connection that would lead him to whoever, or whatever, had started this whole mess.

He didn’t realize how late it was until he was stopping a random mugging in an alley, only to see that the victim was Flash.

He was cowering against the wall, using the ever popular “my father will hear about this” Draco Malfoy-esque line, all the while looking like he was going to start crying any second.

“I’m personal friends with Spider-Man,” Flash whimpered. “He’s going to kick your butt when I tell him about this.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Leave it to Flash to pull the same card he mocked Peter relentlessly about.

“Dude, no, that’s my dad’s credit card, he’ll kill me—"

Peter sighed, then jumped into the alley, landing silently behind the mugger. He was going to go for one of his favorite tactics—tap them on the shoulder and say hi—but Flash ruined it.

“Spidey! I knew you’d find me!”

The mugger whirled, trying to punch Peter in the face. He caught the fist easily, webbed the knife out of the guy’s other hand and shoved him a couple steps backward.

“Scram,” Peter said. To his delight, the mugger did, muttering something about him being summoned.

“Yeah, you better run!” Flash called after him. Peter rolled his eyes again. That was the lamest thing he could have possibly said.

He turned to Flash and magnanimously asked if he was alright.

“Oh, man, I knew you’d come, I was just trying to kill time before we tag teamed it,” Flash said, trying to get a selfie with Peter, which Peter kept ducking out of frame for.

“Yeah, sure thing, Flash,” Peter said without thinking. “Be more careful next time.”

Flash abruptly stopped snapping blurry pictures of him. There was a moment of incredulous silence where Flash’s jaw dropped and then—

“ _Parker?”_

Peter froze, his heart beating fast. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he closed it, swallowed, and tried again.

“What?” he asked, playing dumb. “Who’s Parker?”

“You are, idiot,” Flash snapped, his cheeks flushing. “You have the same dumb, girl voice. And you called me Flash.”

Peter could have groaned. He really was an idiot. Flash may not be the smartest in the school, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t recognize _his own name_.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe...” he trailed off, his cheeks still dark red. He was probably remembering all the times he sang Spider-Man’s praises, calling him a better hero than Iron Man and Thor, talking about non-existent times when Spider-Man had said hi to him while on patrol.

Peter sighed again. He was doing a lot of that. Then he grabbed Flash’s arm and tugged him further into the alley, the darkness covering them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Penis, whatever you’re going to do, I’m not—”

“Shut up, Flash,” Peter snapped. For once, he actually did. Once they were hidden behind a dumpster, Peter hesitated for a second, then reached up and pulled off his mask.

Flash looked pretty unhappy to see that he had been right.

“Listen, man, you can’t tell anyone,” Peter said urgently.

Flash scoffed, still looking a mixture of embarrassed and mad, like Peter had tricked him. Which he kind of had.

“Duh,” Flash said, sulkily. “You think I’m going to tell everyone at school that _Penis Parker_ is an Avenger. They’d laugh me out of there. I’d be more of a loser than you are.”

Then he turned and stalked back down the alley and disappeared around the corner.

Peter didn’t bother stopping him. Instead he leaned back against the brick wall and groaned loudly, rubbing his forehead.

Only Flash could discover his hero was actually the kid he bullied and rather than apologizing, immediately start hating the hero too.

And not only that, his identity had just been revealed for the second time in two days. That was... worrying.

But maybe he was just being paranoid. How did the saying go? Once was an incident, twice was a coincidence, three was a pattern.

So he’d wait until tomorrow before freaking out.

 

He was officially freaking out.

He’d gone to school the fourth day just like he said he would and told Ned everything. Ned had been so excited he’d gotten detention cause he wouldn’t stop talking, which made Peter feel bad, but Ned had texted and told him it was “super worth it.”

That hadn’t been the bad part.

The bad part had been the sound of combat boots creeping down the hallway and the heart-stopping click of a gun being cocked.

Peter froze, focusing his senses away from the teacher lecturing, past the tapping pencils and shifting people, picking out the sound of whispered conversation.

“What’s the kid’s name again?”

“Peter Parker.”

Peter’s blood ran cold, his palms sweating where he gripped the desk so hard it was starting to crumble in his hands.

“I can’t believe Spider-Man’s in high school.”

“Whatever, man. Let’s do this.”

Peter stood, his pencil dropping from his hand. He heard it clatter against the linoleum. Time seemed to slow down, the heartbeats of his classmates loud and pressing in his ears.

The _pop-pop-pop_ of a machine gun firing was deafening to his heightened senses.

People immediately started screaming, getting onto the floor and hiding under their desks.

Peter’s teacher rushed to the door, trying to find something to barricade it with.

“Peter Parker!” A voice shouted from the hallway. “Come out right now and no one gets hurt!”

The entire class turned and looked at him where he was still standing in the center of the room.

He took a step forward. He heard a few people suck in breaths of surprise, a few others sigh in relief.

“Peter,” his teacher whispered tremulously.

“It’s all right, Ms. O’Reilly,” he said, his voice stronger than he thought it would be.

“ _No_ ,” she started arguing, her hands shaking as she wagged a finger at him.

“We’re waiting, Spider-Man!”

If people had been surprised before, it was nothing compared to the ringing silence that followed that sentence. He heard someone whisper “ _Peter?”_ in shock.

He looked around at his classmates, kids that were in danger because of him.

He opened his mouth to apologize, explain, _something_ , but once again, a voice from the hallway stopped him.

“Hey, morons!”

“ _MJ,_ ” Peter half-groaned, half-yelled.

He didn’t waste any time grabbing his suit or even his mask. He just darted past his teacher, yanked open the door and rushed out.

They were a hallway away—Peter could hear the scuffing of heavy boots, the sounds of fingers shifting against metal, and more clearly, MJ’s racing heartbeat.

He ran, snapping his webshooters onto his wrists as he went. He hurled around the corner and didn’t pause to acknowledge the men as they raised their guns. He just kept going until he nearly collided into MJ, using his momentum to swing them around so that she was behind him.

MJ let out a whoosh of breath, clutching his arm in a way that belied her stoic exterior.

The men in front of them watched him through the sights of their guns.

“You must be Peter,” the one in the front said, his voice low.

“You must be a serious douchebag to bring a gun into a school,” MJ snapped.

“Shut up,” Peter hissed at her, pushing her more firmly behind him.

“Watch it, girlie,” one of the men hissed, his gun seeming to aim through Peter to MJ.

“Ok, now you’ve done it,” Peter sighed.

In a blur of motion, Peter shoved MJ further down the hall, shouting “stay down,” as he did, then shot a long string of webbing at the closest gun, covering the barrel and yanking it out of the man’s hands.

He managed to snag one more gun before the firing started.

All around him, he could hear whimpering and crying and gentle shushing from the kids in the classes lining the hall.

He had to finish this fast.

Peter dodged bullets as best he could, trying to gain some ground. He was afraid of weaving too wildly around the hall—the glass windows wouldn’t stop a stray bullet. Instead he leapt to the ceiling, jumped across lockers, hearing the pinging as bullets pierced the metal, shattered lights.

He managed to get one more gun out of the hands of the agents, but unless he started getting some hits in, the bullets were just going to keep coming.

He’d lost sight of MJ in the chaos. He wanted to turn and look for her, but knew that doing so would mean getting riddled with bullet holes.

Turns out, she was doing fine on her own, as Peter discovered a second later when suddenly all five men were suddenly covered in white foam. Behind them stood MJ, fire-extinguisher clutched in her hands.

“Nice one!” Peter cheered, managing to finally take the offensive in the brief pause her distraction had caused.

He leapt around them, weaving webs around their ankles before pulling it taut, knocking them all off their feet at once. Then he dropped from the ceiling in the midst of them. The floor was slick with foam, but Peter’s stickiness worked to his advantage.

Someone pulled a knife from his boot and began working at the webs. Peter aimed a quick kick to his chin and the man collapsed boneless. He dodged a slippery hand, elbowed someone in the gut. It was the messiest fight he’d ever been in, fire-extinguisher foam getting all over his clothes and in his eyes.

He didn’t let it deter him from delivering hard punches to three more men, knocking them unconscious.

The last one, now free from the webs courtesy of the knife he’d pulled out of nowhere, stood up, brandishing the blade.

Peter huffed, shot out a web and ripped the knife free of his grasp easily.

But it was all the time the man needed to pull out his handgun and fire.

Peter felt the bullet rip through the skin of his side, pain immediately lacing up his entire body. Gasping, he pressed both hands to the wound, then yelped when the foam still clinging to his skin made it burn.

The man was walking backwards away from Peter, his gun still raised. He made it to the door, pressed the handlebar to open it, and then promptly ran into Iron Man.

Peter’s knees went weak with relief when he saw Tony. Even though he’d handled most of it, stopped anyone but himself from getting hurt, the instant feeling of _safe_ that washed over Peter was enough to make his eyes water.

Tony bound the man that he’d caught efficiently in high-tech cuffs before calling over his shoulder to the waiting police. As soon as the agent was in their custody, Tony shed the suit and strode purposefully forward.

He came straight up to Peter, his hands instantly pushing Peter’s away to check his side.

“How’d you find out?” Peter asked quietly, wincing as Tony tugged his t-shirt up, exposing the bloody wound.

“Ned called me.”

 _I love my friends_ , Peter thought, then suddenly remembered MJ. He whirled, ignoring Tony’s protest.

She was being surrounded by police officers now, an EMT hurrying over to her to check for injuries. He waited until she met his eyes, nodding firmly to tell him she was ok.

The relief that time was so dizzying Peter actually swayed.

“Whoa,” Tony said, clamping both hands on Peter’s shoulders to keep him standing. “It’s a flesh wound. Just grazed you.”

“I know,” Peter said on a heavy exhale. “That’s not... it’s...” He glanced around him, at the lockers with bullet holes and the shattered florescent lights.

Tony’s eyes seemed to soften a bit. “Yeah. Let’s get you out of here, alright? Before they start evacuating the classrooms.”

Peter wasn’t sure how Tony convinced the police to take Peter’s statement tomorrow, but he was grateful as Tony lead him through the throng of officers to the car and opened the door for him. He collapsed onto the leather seat, the chemical scent of the fire-extinguisher all around him.

Tony slid into the backseat next to him and Happy pulled quickly away from the curb. There were news cameras and ambulances and people standing behind a barricade.

“They came to my school,” Peter whispered.

Tony looked at him, his face dark. “I know. I’ll track them down, Peter, and—”

“They knew my name. And they came to my _school.”_

There was a strange sense of terror filling him—not that of Peter Parker, who could handle some guns, who had seen and fought worse, who _signed up for this_ , but that of the other students who had never seen a gun in real life let alone been on the wrong end of one, who have watched the news and felt the bone deep fear that they might be next and _then they were_.

And it was his fault.

Peter’s breath caught, his vision swimming.

A hand on the back of his neck forced his head between his knees. Tony was closer to him now, the warmth of him radiating through Peter’s clothes.

“Breathe, Peter,” Tony muttered.

“This is why,” he choked out. “This is why I didn’t want _anyone_ to know my identity.”

Tony sighed above him. “I know, kiddo. Just breathe, all right?”

Peter concentrated on the steady rhythm of Tony’s thumb brushing along his neck and that more than anything calmed him down.

 

After Peter was checked out by a doctor and changed into clean clothes, Tony tried to leave him to his own devices so that he could go hunt down the organization that had sent those men, but Peter caught his wrist before he could leave.

“Tomorrow,” he pleaded.

“Pete, they might have disappeared by tomorrow,” Tony said, looking torn.

 _And you’ll have completely forgotten. And so will everyone else_.

Peter felt guilty for being grateful for that fact.

“Tomorrow. Please.”

Tony heaved a deep sigh, looking down at where Peter was clutching his wrist.

“Fine.” He quirked a small smile. “I’m guessing you want to deal with the fact that your entire school now knows you’re Spider-Man tomorrow, too?”

Peter shrugged, grinning a bit. “I’m a procrastinator, what can I say?’

Tony laughed, pulling Peter toward him with an arm around his shoulders. “What do you say we work on that car until your aunt gets here and freaks out?”

“Definitely.” All their work would disappear in the morning, but that didn’t matter.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him.

“Holy crap, it’s happening, it’s actually happening,” Peter deadpanned out loud as he unlocked the phone. Sure enough, there was the text from Ned. Peter sat up, and then pulled up his t-shirt. The bandage covering what was left of his bullet wound was gone.

“Ok, then,” he said, letting the fabric fall back to covering his stomach. “Day five. Here we go.”

He went to school just cause he didn’t really know what else to do with himself. And he wanted the reassurance that every trace of what had happened yesterday was gone.

When he saw MJ at her locker that morning, the relief hit him all over again.

“Hey, MJ,” he said before he knew what he was doing. She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re awesome.”

“Doesn’t excuse you from missing Decathlon, Parker,” she said blandly, then threw a small smile his way.

Ned was just as excited hearing about the time loop as the day before, but Peter managed to control him enough not to get him in detention, and they spent the whole day talking about theories and time loop movies. And he knew Flash was going to try to trip him, so he was able to avoid his foot, sending a slightly smug smile at the confused look on Flash’s face.

Overall, it was a good day.

Until he walked out the doors after the final bell had rung.

There, swarming in front of the school, were dozens upon dozens of reporters and photographers, and they were all looking at him.

“Peter!” Some of them shouted.

“Spider-Man!” The other half yelled.

“I, uh, forgot to mention,” Peter whispered to Ned, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and his heart nearly beating out of his chest. “My identity has been revealed every day.”

“Oh, dude,” Ned muttered. “That is way less cool.”

Peter nodded. Then ran.

As he lay on the rooftop of a random building, afraid of going home lest reporters chase him down there, and avoiding the multiple calls from May and Mr. Stark, Peter decided that he needed to end the time loop. And soon.

He spent the rest of the night brainstorming how.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him. He groaned loudly.

“I hate you,” he told his phone. He reached out and turned off the alarm that would go off in a minute.

It was day six of the time loop, and today, Peter was determined to stop it. If you broke the cycle, you broke the loop. If Peter’s identity didn’t get exposed, the loop would break on its own. And so, for that reason, he was going to stay in bed literally all day.

May came in at 6:45, asking why he wasn’t up yet. He told her he was sick, trying to make himself look weak and tired.

“Hmm... there’s nothing important you’ll miss in school, right?” She asked, biting her lip.

“I already asked Ned to take notes for me,” Peter assured her.

“Good boy. Do you need me to stay, too?” Peter offered her a feeble smile.

“No, it’s ok. I’ll probably just sleep, watch a movie.”

She left for work after making sure he had medicine and water with him. He felt bad about lying to her, but it was so much easier than telling the truth in this situation.

As soon as May was gone, Peter got up and triple checked the lock, closed all the blinds in the apartment. He grabbed his laptop and set up bed to do research.

Time loops had been in sci-fi pretty much since it was invented, Peter learned as browsed a Wikipedia page. He pulled up a list of TV shows and movies and got to work watching all of them he could. He shamelessly rented most of them on May’s Amazon, knowing the money would return to her account at the end of the day if he was unsuccessful in his attempt. He took notes, made comparisons with his own experience.

May had come home from work as he watched the time loop episode from The X-Files. She’d checked his temperature and called him a nerd before leaving to heat up some soup for him.

After a few minutes, Peter smelled smoke. He chuckled; May could burn anything. The smell of smoke was not uncommon in their apartment.

Then his spider sense went off, pricking at the back of his neck. Peter froze, focusing his senses. The smell wasn’t coming from the kitchen, it was coming from downstairs. The shrill beep of a distant alarm sound sharp in his ears, along with shouted, frantic words.

“May!” Peter yelled, up and out of bed in an instant. He flung his bedroom door open, rushing to the kitchen. “May, come on, we need to go.”

The smell of smoke was prevalent now, making Peter cough.

May could smell it too. She followed Peter to their front door, feeling the knob to make sure it wasn’t hot before opening it.

A wave of smoke billowed in. The staircase was already filled, the heat of fire tangible.

“Ok, not that way,” Peter said. He took May’s hand and led her to the living room window instead. “Come on, use the fire escape.” He ushered her out the window. She started to hurry down the stairs but stopped when Peter didn’t follow.

“Peter?” She asked, fear in her voice.

“I’ve got to help, May.” Her eyes were wide. “I’ll be fine,” he rushed to assure her.

At that moment, he heard someone scream from three floors below them.

“Please go,” he begged. She hesitated another second before nodding and starting, a little more shakily, down the metal steps.

Peter really wanted to go and put on his specially designed superhero suit that also happened to have an air filtration system in the mask, but there was another scream and he couldn’t really justify an outfit change.

He crawled out onto the wall of the building, quickly scaling down the building in his pajamas, bare feet against the cold brick. He could hear gasps and exclamations, but ignored them. Instead, he crawled through one of the burst windows on a lower floor, raising one sleeve to his mouth to block as much of the smoke as he could.

He’d cleared apartments during fires before. Never while in his pajamas, and never his own neighbors, but it was the same story. He dodged falling debris, carried people to the window and down to the street, then hurried back up to do it again. There weren’t too many people that hadn’t been able to get out, and between him and the firefighters the building was emptied quickly.

As he carried the last man down five flights and set him down on the street, he finally stayed still long enough for people to get a look at him, to fully realize that yes, their nerdy neighbor Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

May hurried over to him, hugging him fiercely. He coughed a little in her hold, the smoke in his lungs making his breaths wheeze. One of the firefighters dragged him over to an ambulance to give him oxygen. He sat on the bumper with May, painfully aware of the people taking pictures of them. At least his own phone was currently a smoldering pile of ash, so he didn’t have to deal with texts and notifications.

About ten minutes later, an expensive black car pulled slowly through the crowd, right up to the ambulance. Peter braced himself. The people looking on peered over each other to get a look.

Tony Stark climbed out of the vehicle and the crowd went wild. Tony ignored all of them, beelining for Peter and May.

“Peter,” Tony breathed, reaching them. He tipped up Peter’s jaw with two fingers, looking at him intently. “Are you alright?”

Peter nodded. “Glad I didn’t wear the Hello Kitty pjs today,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Tony laughed. “May? What about you?” he asked sincerely. She smiled at him.

“Glad my kid’s alright.”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed. “Me, too.”

Peter ducked his head, figuring his lightly burned face would hide his blush.

“Well, come along, Parkers. Stark B&B is open for business.” Tony pulled Peter up from the ambulance, walking side by side to his car. The shouts and pictures increased. Peter looked away, embarrassment and anxiety in equal measure.

Tony seemed to notice, tossed a casual arm around his shoulder, then coughed. “Jeez, kid. You stink.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Peter agreed. He couldn’t wait to take a shower. Tony still didn’t remove his arm from around Peter.

Once they’d gotten to the Tower, and Peter had taken a long shower, washing his hair three times to get the stench of smoke out, Tony finally brought up the elephant in the room.

“We’ll have to figure something out to address the identity issue,” he said casually to both Peter and May, leaning against the back of Peter’s stool as he inhaled his third bowl of mac and cheese.

Peter faltered, chewing his last bite slowly. “Well, actually... maybe not,” Peter said quietly.

Tony came around the stool enough to look Peter in the face. “You have an idea?”

“No. I meant more that it-it doesn’t really need to be addressed actually,” Peter stammered. “Everyone’s going to forget tomorrow anyway.”

“I wish it worked that way, bud,” Tony started slowly.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said quietly, and Tony shut up. He sunk onto the stool next to Peter.

“Ok. Tell me.”

Peter swallowed, wished suddenly that he had just let Tony worry.

“Today is Monday,” Peter started. May, who had come closer, looking concerned, nodded while Tony just stared.

“But it’s the sixth Monday in a row.”

May blinked, putting a hand over Peter’s and looking at Tony like “he’s obviously gone crazy, please fix him.”

“Like a time loop?” Tony asked seriously.

“Exactly like a time loop.” It felt good to say it, to tell someone and have them not immediately write him off.

“Do you know what started it?” Peter could practically see the gears whirring in Tony’s brain, searching for solutions. Gosh, he should have come to Tony on day one.

“I can’t remember,” Peter admitted. “I remember getting knocked out, and waking up a few minutes later once the guy was gone.”

“But a person did this.”

“I think so. I’m pretty sure.”

Tony sat back a bit, rubbing his goatee.

“Umm...” May broke in. “A-A time loop? Is that... I mean, that can actually happen?” Peter could tell she was trying to not shut him down and loved her for it. It was a hard thing to believe.

“Sure,” Tony said shrugging. “I’ve seen a lot of crap in this world, including time travel. Time loops are just part of that. Tell me everything, kid.”

And Peter did.

He hadn’t realized how much it was weighing him down until he finally opened up and talked about getting blackmailed, the school shooting, the press.

It had only been six days, he realized. It felt like so much more than that.

May was clutching at his hand as he spoke, and Tony’s face grew graver and graver.

“And Strange didn’t have any ideas how to stop it?” he asked when Peter was done. Peter shook his head.

“Some wizard he is,” Tony muttered, then cleared his throat. “All right, well. Let’s think about this logically, without magic nonsense. Ockham’s razor, kid.”

“The easiest solution is the most likely solution,” Peter answered without hesitating. Tony’s mouth curved up into a crooked smile.

“You little nerd,” he said affectionately and Peter huffed a laugh. “So, what’s the easiest solution?”

“Break the cycle. That’s what I was trying to do today and then my apartment burned down.”

“Try again. A couple more times, see if it takes. And if not we’ll move onto step two, alright?” Tony suggested.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter said, nodding emphatically. It sounded less daunting when Tony said “we” instead of “you.”

“And, kid, for all that is holy, next time your identity gets revealed and I call you, _pick up the dang phone_. I can just imagine the gray hairs you gave me over the last couple days.”

“I second that,” May said, giving Peter’s arm a gentle pinch as a teasing reprimand.

“Alright.” Peter ducked his head, abashed. He sometimes forgot how on his side they both were, how much they were willing to throw caution to the wind for his sake. “I... I didn’t want to bother you with my mess.”

“You’re never a bother,” May soothed, running a hand through his hair. Peter looked up at Tony, wanting to see it he agreed.

“It’s our job to help you clean up a mess, kid,” Tony said, shrugging slightly. “Let us.”

Peter swallowed, suddenly found himself unable to look at Tony, his eyes burning a little.

“Now come on, pizza’s on the way and I know the kid wants to watch a movie.”

“As long as it’s not _Groundhog Day_.” May laughed as she tugged Peter along, Tony bringing up the rear with a hand on his shoulder.

 _We can do this_ , he thought. _I can do this_. _Just a couple more days, tops._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll pick up speed after this: I won't write out every single day, I just wanted to establish a routine for Peter (and you guys). Thanks for everyone who commented and left kudos on the last chapter, I love hearing your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: car accident, injuries, .... I don't know, existential talk? Talk of death but not in like a romantic way?

_We can do this_ , he thought. _I can do this_. _Just a couple more days, tops._

* * *

 

 

A week and a half later, he still hadn’t managed to go a single day without someone (and usually a lot of someones) finding out his identity. No matter how hard he tried to stay in his apartment, there was always some reason he had to leave, something he had to do.

He’d tried to tell himself that he could let the crimes happen for one day, that he just needed to ignore them for _one day_ and then he would be out of the time loop, but every time it was something he just... couldn’t ignore. He didn’t know if deaths stuck in the time loop and he wasn’t willing to find out.

So he tried patrolling in the same place again, hoping something would seem familiar enough to make him remember what had happened. For two weeks, he sat on the same rooftop and watched the comings and goings and nothing changed.

No matter what he did, his identity would be revealed, he’d pass out at exactly midnight, and wake up at exactly 6:28 AM.

The worst part, he decided as he laid on the roof, half-heartedly listening to the people below him, was that it gave him _so much time to think_. And he had been avoiding that as much as possible lately.

It’s not like he was in denial about what had happened with the Thanos and the whole... dissolving thing. He just didn’t really know how to deal with it, and he was pretty good at ignoring it, so he did. But the endless repetition of days, the utter pointlessness of any of his actions was so reminiscent of being trapped in the soul stone.

It was starting to make him antsy, lingering doubts that he’d really come back creeping up on him. For weeks after coming back, he’d felt like he wasn’t truly alive, like it was all a dream. This freaking time loop was eerily familiar in a way that had nothing to do with déjà vu.

And sitting on the same rooftop waiting for someone he wouldn’t even recognize to show up was making it worse.

He needed to talk to Tony again. Figure out a plan B.

 

The next morning, after the usual texts woke him up, Peter called Tony.

“You’re up bright and early, kiddo,” Mr. Stark greeted. He sounded like he was in a good mood, and Tony’s good moods were always infectious. He smiled a bit.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. I, uh... are you busy today?”

“Never too busy for you, bud. I’ve got one little thing to deal with and then I’m all yours. Breakfast?”

He technically had school, but Tony didn’t ask about it, so Peter didn’t point it out. “Sure.”

So, an hour or so later, they were walking down the street in Greenwich Village. It wasn’t too far from Dr. Strange’s place, by sheer coincidence, and it made it hard for Peter to think about anything other than his time troubles.

Peter glanced at Mr. Stark, who was calmly strolling next to him, the morning sunlight bright and warm. It was such a nice day, a nice moment, that he didn’t want to ruin it, but... he needed help. He bit his lip and steeled himself.

“Mr. Stark, I have to tell you something.”

“Shoot, kiddo.”

“Well, the thing is—” he cut off as his spider-sense flared, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

A large black van pulled up to the curb. As soon as it had screeched to a halt, the back doors flew open, and three pairs of feet hit the pavement.

Tony wasted absolutely no time in grabbing Peter by the scruff of the neck and dragging him to stand behind Tony. His posture was stiff, his hand practically twitching from the desire to activate his nanotech suit.

Peter peered over Tony’s shoulder and watched as an older man with a military haircut approached them, two guys in full tactical gear and carrying automatic rifles flanking him.

“Well, Mr. Secretary. What a surprise,” Tony said, his voice deceptively mellow. Peter could hear the tension in it, the distaste.

“Stark. Parker.” The man, who Peter now recognized as Thaddeus Ross, smiled thinly at Peter, like he could hear the way Peter’s heart tripped over itself when Ross said his name.

Peter actually could hear the way Tony’s heart skipped a couple beats. The man’s hand came back to clutch at Peter’s arm in such a protective gesture Peter was instantly soothed.

“What brings you to this part of town, Ross?” Tony asked. The guys next to him shifted, their fingers inching toward the triggers.

“Coming to see you and our little arachnid friend here, of course.”

If Tony’s heart had skipped a beat when Ross knew Peter’s name, it was nothing compared to when Ross revealed that he knew Peter was Spider-Man. His heart went still for so long, Peter was honestly concerned about him having a heart attack. He grabbed a fistful of the back of Tony’s shirt as an anchor, but Tony seemed to interpret it as a sign of fear because his stance grew even stiffer and his heart, finally beating again, sped up.

“Ok, well, good luck finding him. He’s a slippery one, that Spider-Man.”

Ross’s fake smile grew. “Oh, I think finding him won’t be that big of a problem.” He sauntered forward a couple steps, but Tony held his ground. “We talked about this, Stark. You were supposed to turn him in.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t breathe. Tony had been told to... to _arrest him?_

“We did talk about this, Thaddeus. You told me to sell out my ally and I told you to go screw yourself.”

“And I warned you—“ Ross’s voice grew quieter “—that there would be consequences for disobeying me.”

His eyes fixed on Peter, a light in them that made Peter’s spidey-sense go off the charts, his palms growing sweaty.

“Come quietly, Spider-Man, and there won’t be any collateral damage.”

Peter’s eyes flicked away from him as he saw more men climbing out of the truck, each heavily armed.

Peter stiffened as the last guy came out. His blond hair and dark eyes were familiar. He was the man that had shot Peter at the school.

The realization that _Ross_ had been behind that made Peter’s blood boil, even if the memory of it was lost to the time loop for everyone else. It didn’t change the fact that kids could have died, _his friends_ could have died, and it would have been Ross’s fault.

“I don’t think so,” Peter snarled.

He heard Tony’s intake of breath at the same moment he moved.

The men seemed to have expected him to run into the alley he and Tony were in front of, but instead Peter dashed directly into the street, swarming with morning traffic.

“ _Peter_!” He heard Tony yell as the truck came barreling at him. Peter didn’t take any time to acknowledge him, just leapt into the air, landing spryly on the roof of the car, then using it as a springboard to fling himself into the air, whipping out a web that attached to the balcony of the building on the opposite side of the street.

He was disappearing around the corner before Ross managed to shout at his men to follow Peter.

He listened to Tony yelling, trying to stall Ross as much as possible, as he dashed across rooftops and leapt across streets, his hearing tuned into Tony’s voice like a radio. He heard the van doors slam even though he was a block and a half away, but the engine was lost among the sounds of traffic.

By the time he was two blocks away, he couldn’t hear Tony anymore.

He kept running.

He heard the boots thundering after him a few minutes later.

“All right,” he panted, “rooftop chase scene. That is so awesome.”

As he leapt across the next gap in the roofs, he did a front-flip, using his second in the air to get a look behind him. There were three men chasing him on foot.

Peter landed lightly without breaking his stride. He was just heading out of Chelsea, 34th Street a wide break between the buildings a block ahead of him. A gap Peter could clear, but he doubted any unenhanced person could.

He sprinted toward the edge, pushing off with one foot, his arms windmilling as he flew above the busy street below. People honked and shouted at him from below. His foot barely caught the ledge of the opposite building and he threw himself forward into a somersault to avoid falling back down to the pavement.

There were shouts from the other side and Peter looked up, panting, to see his pursuers cursing on the roof he had just jumped from.

He grinned at them and waved cockily. One of them flipped him off and he laughed, but the sound was drowned out by the sudden blaring of car horns.

Peter stood and looked down at the street below and counted no less than eight men in identical black gear running across the street, stopping traffic.

“Oh, crap,” he muttered. He spared another glance at the men across from him, who were now flocking toward the fire escape to continue their chase.

“Ugh, this is suddenly much less awesome,” Peter groaned as he wheeled around and started running again.

He needed to shake them. He could outrun every single one of them any day, but leading them on a chase through Manhattan was hardly inconspicuous.

Especially when he leapt across another break in the buildings and was greeted by gunshots.

“There are civilians present!” Peter shouted as he landed, scrambling for footing on the sloped roof.

He jumped again, slinging out a web and changing course mid-air. He was already making enough of a scene, may as well use everything to his advantage.

The sudden chopping of helicopter blades above him broke the temporary rush of confidence he felt.

He briefly clung to the side of a building and glanced up. He had foolishly hoped that it was just a news station, trying to capture the chase. But it wasn’t. He could clearly see Secretary Ross sitting in the back, along with another solider, whose gun was trained on Peter.

“Come _on_ , man,” Peter sighed, “chill out just a bit.”

Then he had to immediately duck into a dark alley when Ross spotted him.

“Ok, what do I do what do I do what do I do?” Peter chanted to himself as he hung upside down from a balcony.

He... really wanted Tony here. But that wasn’t an option.

He took a second and thought about where he was. He wasn’t too far from Times Square... if he was going to lose his tails, that would be the easiest place to do it.

Peter took a deep breath and counted to three, stealing himself.

Ten blocks. He just had to go ten blocks. With twelve armed men, the secretary of defense, and a helicopter tracking him.

No problem.

He measured the angle for his next shot of webbing, then started moving.

The helicopter immediately spotted him, and the men on the ground aimed their guns at him, and Peter’s spider-sense flared to 100 all at once.

The ten blocks passed in a blur of instinctual ducking and diving. He swung between buildings, aware of every single guy chasing after him. The helicopter followed his every move; Peter could practically feel the barrel of the gun pointing at him.

Not to mention that he was definitely going to be on the news now. A second helicopter joined Ross’s, and Peter caught a glimpse of a local news stations symbol.

Great. More people looking at him. That’s just what he wanted.

He reached Times Square, a wall of noise and lights and smells. Peter usually avoided it at all cost, even more than the average New Yorker because of his enhanced senses.

His pursuers were half a block behind him, the helicopter wheeling around to get a better look at him.

Peter took advantage of the single moment of not being watch and disappeared.

He slipped behind a nearby billboard, where the shadows hid him. He clung to the metal bars, breathing hard. He’d never had to go full out like that before and he was exhausted and absolutely _starving_.

But he couldn’t stay long. He didn’t know what kind of fancy tech Ross had on that helicopter, but if he had thermal imaging, he’d find Peter fast.

Carefully staying as out of sight as possible, Peter climbed down to the pavement and was immediately enveloped in the swarm of people.

He fought his way over to a souvenir vendor and bought a hat and sunglasses. He also bought a sketchy looking hot dog with the last of the cash in his wallet and traded his cell phone for a homeless man’s coat.

Then he let himself be carried away in the crowd.

He walked twelve blocks, then popped the lenses out of the sunglasses, just to mix things up a little bit more.

Finally, there was break in security cameras. Peter ducked into the shade of a building, then clambered up the bricks and up to the roof. It was just a standard roof, with a door to the stairs and a large pipe curving out of the building into the industrial water heater.

He was tired. And the hot dog had barely helped the gnawing hunger in his stomach.

Peter crawled under the industrial pipe and closed his eyes. The sun was warm, but the late spring breeze was still cool, and the heat radiating from the metal was nice. He could probably stay here for an hour or so before moving again.

Trying to ignore the empty ache in his stomach, Peter slept.

He woke to the sound of the door to the roof opening. Instantly on high alert, Peter stuck his hands and feet to the underside of the pipe and lifted himself off the ground.

Footsteps drew closer. His spidey-sense was surprisingly calm. It was probably just a random person out for a smoke break, he reasoned. He peeked at the pair of shoes and they were nice, leather dress shoes—not really what someone would wear when hunting down a vigilante on the run.

“Peter?”

Peter popped his head out from under the pipe. “Mr. Stark,” he sighed in relief, letting himself down and sliding out into the light.

Tony watched him with a slightly amused look. He had sunglasses on and a backpack over one shoulder. Despite his dress pants, he sat on the dusty roof next to Peter.

“How you holding up, kid?” Tony asked, watching him appraisingly.

“Did you see the helicopter they had out looking for me?” Peter asked energetically. “And like... _fifteen guys_ chased me through Manhattan.” Tony opened his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed like he was going to apologize. “This would be the coolest day of my life if it didn’t suck so bad.”

Tony barked out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, well, you scared about thirty years off my life with that stunt. It’s a miracle I’m sitting here right now,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Peter looked down guiltily, but Tony just bumped shoulders with Peter as he began digging through the backpack, pulling out water bottles and wrapped sandwiches.

“Here, kid. I can hear your stomach growling.”

Peter took the proffered food with an embarrassed thanks and dug in. Tony tucked his sunglasses in his blazer pocket, then tipped his head back and watched Peter eat.

“How’d you find me?” Peter asked between bites.

Tony sighed. “Don’t get weirded out,” he warned.

“Ok...”

“I have a heavily encrypted tracker in your shoe. It only works for an hour once it’s activated and then self-destructs, so it’s for emergencies only.” Tony checked his watch. “It should burn out in about a minute, but you’ll have to skedaddle once we’re done here. Ross is keeping tabs on me.”

Peter nodded, then stopped chewing abruptly. “It’s going to _self-destruct_? Should I take my shoe off?”

“It’s not going to explode, kid, jeez. I wouldn’t put an explosive on you. And I especially wouldn’t put an explosive on you and _not tell you_. What do you take me for?”

“Right, sorry.” He finished his first sandwich, moved on to the next one without pausing. Tony knew his appetite and had brought several.

“Listen, buddy,” Tony said, after a minute. “I’m sure you figured this out, but... you can’t come home.”

Peter looked up at him quickly. _Come_ home. Like home was with Tony.

Tony seemed to notice his slip, too, because he looked down at his hands, his cheeks faintly pink. “Or to the tower,” he added hastily. “May’s fine, she’s good, but there are agents at your apartment, and Ross has set up in the tower. I can’t really make him leave without making it worse.” Tony shrugged, a little helplessly.

“Are you going to get in trouble for talking to me?” Peter muttered. Tony looked down at him, nudging him gently in the ribs.

“Nah. Ross will suspect where I was when I get back, but as long as there’s no surveillance of us together, there won’t be any hard proof and it’s all speculation.” He took a breath. “Come on, kid, finish your lunch.”

Peter looked down at the nearly forgotten sandwich in his hands. He took another bite.

“So, is there anywhere you can lay low tonight? I’d sleep a lot better if you weren’t on the streets,” Tony said, trying to sound casual. Peter could tell there was no way he was actually sleeping tonight, just saying that to ease the tension.

“Uh... yeah. Yeah, there’s someone who owes me a favor.”

“Ugh, that sounds so sketchy.” Tony rubbed his forehead. “But it’s better than the alternative, I guess, so go for it.”

Tony looked so stressed that Peter opened his mouth to tell him not to worry, to tell him about the time loop and assure him that nothing was going to stick anyway. But they were out of time; Peter could feel the anxiety winding up again, the anticipation as they both prepared to get out of there unseen.

Peter shoved the last uneaten sandwich in the big pockets of the coat he was wearing. Tony eyed it with distaste, then looked up and met Peter’s gaze.

“Ready, kiddo?” He muttered. Peter nodded, even though he really didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay here with Tony in the warm sunlight. “Alright. I’ll go first, then... you can get out of here without getting caught on camera?”

“Got up here without getting caught,” Peter said, shrugging.

“Ok.” Tony sighed heavily. He gave Peter a wane smile, then stood and turned to go. But he stopped before he reached the door.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

Tony turned and looked at him, his expression serious. “I would never turn you in to Ross. Never.”

Peter swallowed. “I know.”

Tony adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, then slipped his sunglasses back on. “Please be careful, kid.”

Then he was gone, his footsteps slowly retreating down the staircase.

Peter sat with his head tipped against the pipe, listening to the reverberations in the metal.

He counted ten minutes, then started crawling down the back of the building, keeping to the shadows.

It was still light out. He had time to kill, so he took a long circuitous route, spending up to half an hour at a time on random rooftops and hiding in alleys.

It wasn’t bad, per se. He’d spent a lot of time chilling on top of buildings on patrols, but there was the ever present fear lurking in the back of his mind, the instinct to look over his shoulder all the time, just in case Ross managed to sneak up on him. Not to mention it left him a lot of time to think.

As if being trapped in a time loop where his identity was constantly revealed wasn’t bad enough, to find out that Ross _already knew_ was... terrifying. Every time he thought about it his breathing got shallow and his heart started beating so loud he could hear it.

Not only did Ross know, he had been threatening Tony to turn him in. And it’s not that Peter didn’t trust Tony—he _did_ , with his entire being. But how far did Tony’s power go? How long could he hold off the _Secretary of Defense_?

Tony had talked with him a little bit about signing the Accords when he was 18, but there were four months until then. What if Ross came for him before he even got a chance to sign them? What if he was arrested and locked up in the Raft?

Of course, that was assuming he ever got out of this time loop.

Peter sighed and stood up from his place crouching behind a dumpster. It was finally getting dark, so Peter started making his way further north.

He found who he was looking for faster than he expected. He just followed the grunts coming from a creepy alley in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen.

Peter watched from a rooftop for a moment, then remembered that his face was plastered all over the news and figured there was no point hiding. He jumped down and took out two men easily, then waited will Daredevil finished off his guy.

“Spider-Man,” Daredevil panted once the last one was moaning on the ground. Peter winced a little bit—he and Daredevil didn’t share quite the same point of view on hurting people. “Glad to see you’re not arrested.”

“Thanks, man,” Peter sighed. “Any chance you’re glad enough to offer me a place to stay?”

Daredevil laughed lowly, rotating his shoulder and hissing in pain. “Yeah, may as well. I can trust you, can’t I?”

“Of course.”

“Follow me.”

Daredevil led him to an apartment flooded with neon light from the sign across the street.

“Thanks again, Daredevil,” Peter sighed. Even if it wasn’t familiar, it was nice being in a closed spaced that he knew was free from surveillance.

“May as well call me Matt.” The man pulled the mask off. “There’s leftover Chinese food in the fridge, help yourself. I’ve got to go back out in a few minutes.”

Matt set up a bed for Peter on the couch. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” he said gruffly, pulling on his mask again.

“Ok,” Peter said. It’s not like it mattered, Peter would be gone at midnight anyway, time rewinding to 6:28 that morning.

As he laid on the couch, a pillow over his face to try to block out the glowing neon lights, Peter thought again about that morning  when Ross pulled up. He thought about how Tony had shielded him, had lied for him.

 _You can’t come home_. Peter pulled the pillow off his face and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to go home and be with May and Tony; whether that was his apartment or the tower didn’t matter as long as they were there.

There were no clocks in Daredevil’s apartment, so Peter had no way of knowing what time it was. He just laid there listening to the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen until his vision went black.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. He sighed, dropped his head against his pillow. He was exhausted. He wasn’t sure if it was just residual tiredness from the unbelievably long day before or what, but he was pretty ready to fake sick again and stay in bed all day, even if it wouldn’t break the loop.

Until the squeal of brakes hit his ears.

Peter groaned, but he jumped out of bed and immediately out the window when he saw the accident about to happen.

Peter jumped straight to the street, ignoring the shocks of pain running up his legs as he darted forward and wrapped his arms around the kid in the crosswalk. He braced himself for the impact.

It hurt. _Gosh_ , it hurt.

He could feel the car breaking his ribs, his shoulder. The concrete tearing through the skin of his temple as he was knocked to the ground.

His mouth filled with blood and he barely managed to turn his head to the side to spit it out.

Someone came and pulled the kid from his arms. There was shouting around him, sirens. He wanted to tell them to be quiet—his head was throbbing, the pain slowly radiating through his entire body.

He whimpered. He tried to hold it in, but it hurt so bad.

He must have lost some time, because the next thing he knew, there were hands on his face.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony’s voice said gently. “We’re going to get you fixed up, ok?”

“Mr. Stark,” he gasped. “I do not like Mondays.”

Tony laughed, and Peter figured it was ok if he passed out.

 

“Whoa, Pete, you’ve got to hold still,” a voice was saying by his ear. A hand was on his forehead and he tried to find the owner.

“Hurts,” he whimpered.

“Kid? You with me?”

He whined, high and pathetic.

“It’s ok, Peter, I’m right here.”

Tony. Peter turned his head again, wanting Tony.

A hand wiped his cheek like he was crying.

“I’m right here.”

 

When he woke again it was dark.

He hurt in the distant way that told him he was in bad shape but medicine was keeping reality away.

He swallowed and worked up the energy to turn his head.

May was there, asleep in the chair. She always fell asleep if she sat still for long, because he job wore her out so much.

Tony was on the other side, staring into space.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, and Tony’s gaze snapped to him.

“Hey, Pete,” he said, sitting forward. “You’re awake.”

“Time is it?”

“About 10:30.”

Peter sighed, leaned back against the pillows.

“You want me to save the lecture until tomorrow, kiddo?” Tony asked softly, a small smile on his face.

“Nah, no point.”

“Cause nothing’s ever going to get through your thick head and abnormally kind and loving heart?” Tony’s hand came and rested on Peter’s forehead again, brushing his hair back.

Peter blushed a bit—good to know there was enough blood in him to blush—but shook his head.

“You ever seen that really old movie _Groundhog Day_?” Peter muttered.

“Course. Bill Murray is America’s male sweetheart,” Tony said with a wink.

Peter laughed at the Brooklyn 99 reference, winced, then took a breath to speak again. “I’m living it, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s face instantly went serious. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been living the same day over and over for five weeks.”

Tony swore under his breath. “You get hit by that car _every day?_ ”

“No,” Peter said, musing a little bit. “I’ve never really figured that part out. The day... always changes. There are little details that stay the same, but nothing else. Except...” he trailed off.

“What, buddy?” Tony asked, listening intently.

“My identity. It gets revealed every day, Mr. Stark.” Peter couldn’t help the way his voice broke.

“Oh, Peter.” Tony’s hand moved from his forehead to his cheek, wiping away the single tear that fell.

“It’s terrifying. Every single day is terrifying.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Tony promised. “You’ll have to remind me every day, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Ok. Ok.” He really, really tried to sound like he believed him.

Tony considered him for a moment. “You’re a brave kid, Parker. And a brilliant one. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

“Hey, I thought that too. Mostly cause I’m a huge nerd, though.”

Tony let out a relieved laugh. “Humor means you’re good, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Peter said, sniffing.

“Great,” Tony said. “How long until the loop resets?”

“Uh, midnight.”

“Want to watch Brooklyn 99 until then?” Tony asked, already queuing up on his tablet.

“Duh.”

 

He really should have listened when Mr. Stark told him not to get out of the car. They’d been driving back from talking to Dr. Strange, as useless as it had been, and Tony was already worried about him, his hands fiddling ceaselessly with his phone.

But Peter couldn’t really ignore it when he got news from Ned that Doctor Octopus was tearing up a dozen blocks in Manhattan. So he’d jumped out of the car at a red light and dashed off, Tony shouting at him to come back.

He’d gotten to the fight fast and feeling confident, in his Spider-Man suit for once—just a typical fight between Peter and one of his arch-nemeses. It should have been no problem, but... he doesn’t really know what happened. Doc Ock had gone to hit him, and it would have been tricky to dodge, so Peter just... didn’t. It’d be healed in the morning, he figured. He could save that energy and put it toward winning the fight.

But then he didn’t dodge the next one, or the next, and suddenly it wasn’t by choice but because he was too busy blinking the blood out of his eyes to see the mechanical arms coming at him, and he was cornered against a building, his mask ripped off while he curled around broken ribs and he didn’t know how it went so bad so fast.

The crowd around them was quiet, watching Spider-Man lose with baited breath.

He could hear Doc Ock gearing up, ready to deliver the killing blow. Peter swallowed a mouthful of blood, tried to open his eyes, to look death in the face bravely, like a hero.

If he died, would he still wake up on Monday morning? Would he evade death again? Would he, once again, feel like part of him had been lost between dying and living?

Or would he just die?

He would never know the answer, because at that moment, he heard a voice.

“Get out of the way! Get out of the way!”

 _Tony_ , Peter thought, his eyes filling with sudden tears of pure shock. _Tony._

“ _That’s my kid!”_ Tony’s voice roared, and Peter could hear people grumbling as Mr. Stark shoved passed them, racing through the crowd.

Doc Ock’s metal arm shot out, straight toward Peter, ready to crush him in its mechanical claw.

A burst of light, and the limb fell, useless, to the cement. Another flash and Doc Ock was tipping sideways, another of his arms gone.

Tony was standing there in the wreckage, one hand covered in a nanobot gauntlet. He met Peter’s eyes, and Peter knew they understood each other. There was no winning this fight. Not right now. Peter just needed to get out.

Peter raised his hand. Tony mimicked him. Doc Ock howled curses at his malfunctioning robot suit.

Peter took careful aim, felt more than saw Tony take a deep breath, and then they were both moving. Peter fired a web at a car parked across the street, yanking it toward him and swinging with all his might. Tony charged up the repulsor and blasted the car straight into Doctor Octavian, the engine exploding in a burst of scorching fire.

Peter didn’t stick around long enough to see the flames. Instead he darted toward Tony, seized him around the middle and swung the both of them up to a roof. He didn’t pause, just kept running for three blocks, before a rough landing made his knees buckle.

Tony cursed lightly, Peter groaned, and they both laid on the hard gravel for a moment.

Peter was dizzy, his ribs aching horribly, and his stomach was rioting.

“Come on, kid,” Tony eventually sighed, pushing himself to his feet. He grabbed Peter’s arm, pulled him to his feet. Together, they slowly made their way to the Tower, ducking into back alleys whenever someone was nearby.

Peter was about ready to tell Tony to just leave him—he’d pass out from his injuries and then wake up in the morning in his bed—when the Tower finally appeared among the other towering skyscrapers. Tony, shaking from supporting Peter’s weight for the last six blocks, muttered a quiet, “Oh, _finally_.”

Tony’s strength gave out once they were in the elevator. He dropped Peter, probably harder than he meant to, onto the floor and then crouched down next to him. Peter groaned, leaning against the wall, his head back and eyes closed. He was breathing heavily, coughing a little. He clutched his ribs, the blood that was dripping down his face dark against pale skin.

“Shoot, kid,” Tony sighed, finally getting a good look at Peter’s injuries.

Peter picked his head up, squinting at Tony. He offered him a hazy smile. “Hey, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“Did I lose?” Tony’s teeth clacked shut, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“Yeah, Pete,” he said between gritted teeth. “You lost. By a lot.”

“Oops,” Peter murmured. He closed his eyes again, looking like he was about to fall asleep.

The elevator came to a stop. Tony seized Peter’s wrist and yanked him upright, being none too gentle.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined.

“Don’t ‘Mr. Stark’ me. You were being an idiot and got yourself all bloodied up because of it and I don’t have a right to be mad?” Tony snapped, hauling Peter toward the living room.

“I wasn’t being an idiot, I was fighting a supervillain,” Peter hissed as Tony dropped him onto a stool.

“Idiotically. Back-alley thugs throw worse hits at you every night and they’ve never landed and then today not only did it land, but the next one did too, and the one after that,” Tony said as he pressed the spider symbol to release the suit, letting it pool around Peter’s waist. His chest was painted blue and purple, and a long gash was marring his stomach. Tony glared at the injuries for a second before marching off to get a first-aid kit.

“It’s fine, Mr. Stark, they’ll be gone in the morning,” Peter called after him. He was exhausted, and his ribs ached horribly, but it was true, there would be absolutely no sign of them when he woke up.

Tony stomped back into the room, first-aid kit in hand and some pajamas tucked under his arm. He dropped the items on the counter, then turned to face Peter, his face thunderous.

“Ok, before we get to the ‘Tony patches Peter up _again_ ’ part of the program, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen,” Tony said, leaning down so they were eye to eye. Peter stared back, not ceding an inch. “I don’t care if the injuries will be gone in the morning, I don’t care if you can take a hit better than the freaking Hulk. I care that you walked into that fight even though I told you not to and didn’t wait for back-up. I care that your head wasn’t in it, and you were beaten to a pulp because of it.”

Peter looked sullenly away, but Tony lifted a hand and grabbed his chin, forcing Peter to look at him. His hand was surprisingly gentle. “Peter, you’ve always been a little reckless. You’re a teenage boy with superpowers; I was expecting it. But this? This was beyond that. Maybe you feel a little invincible because of the whole time loop thing, but you’re not, ok? For all we know, you get killed and that’s it. And we’re not testing that. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. Tony considered him for a moment, then dropped his hand. He opened the med kit, rifling around while Peter stared dully at the floor.

“Here,” Tony said, holding out his hand. Two white pills rested in his palm and Peter recognized the specially made pain medicine that Tony had developed for him.

“No, it makes me tired.” He could handle the pain for the next few hours. He would just have to hide it from Mr. Stark.

“Good, you could use the sleep and I could use a few hours where I know you’re not in imminent mortal peril.” He shook his hand in a ‘take them before I force them down your throat myself’ gesture. Peter scowled, but took the pills, swallowing them dry before Tony made a sound of disgust and went to get him a glass of water.

Tony cleaned Peter up, both of them silent. Once he was done, he slid the bundle of clothes closer and turned his back so Peter could get dressed. The pants were easy enough—familiar, loose sweatpants that he’d worn other times he’d been hurt. But as soon as he lifted his arms over his head to try to put the shirt on, his ribs screamed in protest and he couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that slid through his teeth.

Tony whirled, hurrying forward and grasping Peter’s arms. He slowly maneuvered Peter until he could tug the shirt over his head, yanking it down over his bandaged stomach.

“Thanks,” Peter whispered. Tony looked at him appraisingly, then ruffled Peter’s no doubt horribly messy curls. He looked tired, in that bone-aching way he did sometimes. Peter knew it was his fault.

“Go to bed, Spider-Kid,” Tony said, turning away. Peter watched him sit down heavily on the couch, reaching for a tablet, no doubt to get some work done. Glancing down the hall, toward his designated room, Peter bit his lip and thought for a moment, before shuffling toward the couch and collapsing, a little more gingerly, next to Tony.

“I said bed, Underroos. Go.”

Peter buried himself into Tony’s side. The position hurt his ribs, but he pretended it didn’t, nuzzling into Tony’s shoulder in an over-exaggerated display of sleepiness. They’d touched before—Tony often touched his hair, his face, there were a couple hugs shared between them—but this, full on cuddling while they were both conscious and relatively unharmed, was new.

“What are you doing?”

“May says I get clingy when I’m hurt,” Peter answered, his words muffled against Tony’s collarbone.

“So I have to suffer?” Tony asked, but he’d already put the tablet aside, shifting so his arm was around Peter’s shoulders.

Peter hummed. The medicine was beginning to make him drowsy, but he did his best to ignore it.

“You’re only doing this cause I’m not going to remember in the morning, huh?”

Peter flinched, shame and embarrassment flaring in his chest. He moved to pull away, but Tony’s arm kept him there.

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted. He didn’t say that he’d thought about it before, but had never been brave enough to try it. He didn’t acknowledge that Tony’s voice had sounded almost disappointed when he asked. 

“Mr. Stark?” He said, after a long minute of quiet.

“Yeah, Pete?”

“I’m not trying to get myself killed. I swear.”

Tony sighed, the motion jostling Peter, sending a bolt of pain up his side. “I’m sure you aren’t, but it can happen whether you’re trying to or not.” He raised a hand, settling it in Peter’s hair. “You’re a good kid, Peter. And you’ll be a great man, but that means you’ve got to live that long.”

Peter swallowed, unexpected tears burning behind his eyes. He thought about the times he put on the suit and it felt like a noose around his neck. About how Ned talked about college the other day and Peter’s first thought was ‘I’ll never go to college.’ About how he’d known from the minute he first put that suit on, that he’d die doing this. He thought about how he’d been right, and instead of making him feel lucky it made him feel like he was on the run: he’d cheated Death and it was coming back for revenge.

He thought about telling Mr. Stark all of that. But the words felt distant and heavy, the medicine making his thoughts swim.  

Tony seemed to read his mind. He resituated Peter until he was laying down, his head in Tony’s lap. “Stop fighting it, kid. Go to sleep.”

Peter frowned up at him, but his eyes closed of their own volition.

When he woke, it was still dark. Grogginess and confusion made him slow on the uptake, but after a moment he realized he was still in Tony’s penthouse, on the couch with a sleeping Mr. Stark. Frantically, Peter reached for Tony’s wrist, the one he knew had a watch on it. He squinted at the time. _11:37._

Oh. Peter let Tony’s wrist drop. He felt humiliating tears burn in his throat, the realization that he was still stuck in the loop more devastating than he would have thought. It had been stupid to hope, even for a second, that he would be allowed to keep living his life.

Peter swallowed the tears away, turning his face into Mr. Stark’s stomach. He would relish the moment, relish the comforting weight of Tony’s hand on his chest, in his hair, while he could, before he woke up to yet another Monday morning. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get a little more serious. Like I said, time is going to speed up, I'm not focusing on individual days so much any more, just to show how much time is passing. And you may have noticed the chapter count keeps going up... pretty sure we're going to stick with seven though.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: very brief discussion of suicide, temporary character death
> 
> The absolutely stunning art for this chapter is by bean_reads_fanfic (the-reverse-mermaid on tumblr) and I'm especially excited about this one cause I requested it specifically, so thank you so so much Emily.

_Peter swallowed the tears away, turning his face into Mr. Stark’s stomach. He would relish the moment,_

_relish the comforting weight of Tony’s hand on his chest, in his hair, while he could, before he woke up to yet another Monday morning._

* * *

 

 

“Ok,” Peter said without preamble as he walked unannounced into the penthouse of the tower at 7 AM. Tony, who was standing in the kitchen drinking a mug of coffee, jumped and started coughing. “We need a new plan.”

“Peter? What the crap are you doing here, kid? Plan for what?” Tony asked, his voice a little hoarse from choking. Peter felt a little bad about that.

“The time loop. I’ve tried breaking it, I’ve tried doing the same thing every day, I’ve tried going to Doctor Strange, and so far nothing has worked.”

“Kid, I really need you to back up a few dozen steps and tell me what’s happening.”

Peter sighed. It wasn’t Tony’s fault he didn’t remember, obviously, but it was more than a little tiring repeating the same spiel over and over.

“You ever see that really old movie _Groundhog Day_?” Peter started.

“Of course,” Tony said. “Bill Murray is America’s male sweetheart.” He flashed a grin, trying to coax one out of Peter.

Peter huffed a laugh, just because Tony has said that line at least a dozen times before. He crossed the floor and leaned against the counter next to Tony, his shoulders slumping.

“Woah, kiddo,” Tony muttered, immediately reaching out and grasping Peter’s shoulder. “Something is really wrong, huh?”

Peter nodded.

“I have been living the same Monday for the last two months. No matter what I do, it’s always April 30th.”

“Jeez,” Tony whispered. “Come sit down, ok? Tell me what’s going on.”

Tony led Peter to the couch with a hand on his back, then sat down next to him. His eyebrows were furrowed, his gaze serious as he watched Peter explain everything that had happened to him. When he started getting to the bad parts—Ross and Doc Ock and every other sucky thing that has happened to him in the last two months—Tony covered his mouth with one hand and put the other on Peter’s knee, like he wanted to make sure he was there.

“Ok,” Tony said quietly once Peter was done. “You sounded like you had an idea when you came, kid. What did you have in mind?”

Peter stood and paced away. Thinking about the loop too much made him anxious, nervous energy burning in his muscles.

“I was thinking, maybe instead of trying to figure out how to stop it, we should maybe look at what started it. Find a motive.”

Tony watched him. “Sounds like a solid theory.”

“So, assuming that the person who did this to me meant to do it, what could be some reasons?” Peter rambled. Tony hummed thoughtfully from the couch but Peter kept talking. “Maybe they want me out of the way so they can commit some big crime, but that wouldn’t make sense because everything they did would be reset once the loop was over. Unless they were independent from the loop.”

“Kid, your words are starting to blend together. Slow down.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Right, sorry. I just... I just really want this over, Mr. Stark.” He looked down at hands.

“I know, buddy. You were doing great, just remember that I don’t have super hearing, ok?” Peter glanced up at Tony and found him smiling encouragingly.

“Ok. Um... do you have any ideas?”

Tony thought for a moment, his head tilted to one side.

“Maybe...,” he started. “Maybe they’re trying to teach you something. That’s a common theme in these kind of movies, right?”

Peter huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Well, then, they’re a terrible teacher because all I’ve learned is that I hate Mondays even more than I used to.”

“Really? Is that all you’ve learned?” Tony’s voice was low, like he was telling Peter something he didn’t want to hear.

Peter just stared at him, not understanding.

“You said the only constant, the only thing that always happens, is your identity is revealed.” Peter nodded slowly. “Maybe they’re trying to tell you that... it’s going to happen eventually.”

Tony seemed serious, his fingers laced as he leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at Peter intently.

“Ok, so... what? I should just walk out into the street and shout my name for everyone to hear? That’ll get the loop to stop?” Peter said hoarsely.

“Well, maybe not shout it in the street, but...” Peter’s jaw dropped. “It’s the only thing I can think of, kid.”

“You want me to... hold a press conference... and tell the world who I am?” Peter asked, voice shaking. Tony crossed the distance between them and put both hands on Peter’s shoulders. He ducked his head to meet Peter’s eyes.

“I’m just saying maybe you should think about it. We don’t have to do it today, we can think about other options.”

Peter didn’t answer for a minute. The instinctive need to hide himself away, behind a mask, in the shadows, was so intense Peter had to stop himself from running from the warmly lit penthouse. His heart was beating fast with fear.

“Do you really think this will work?” He whispered, clutching at Tony’s wrist.

“I really do, bud,” Tony said.

Peter swallowed. “And... and if it works... May...”

“I’ll take care of her,” Tony assured him. “Full security detail, if you want. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

Peter was breathing hard, and the words seemed to stick in his throat, but he forced them out. “Let’s do it.”

Tony gave him a half smile and squeezed his shoulders. “Brave kid.”

The praise did little to calm Peter, but he forced a smile. It felt like a grimace, and judging by the way Tony looked at him, it looked like one too.

“I’ll call Pepper, get everything taken care of. And then we’ll get May up here, ok?”

Peter nodded.

Tony stepped into the other room to get things arranged. Peter numbly walked to the couch and sat with his hands clenched between his knees.

Within two hours, Peter was standing outside the press room on one of the lowest floors of the tower, in his suit with his mask off. His throat was so dry he wasn’t sure he could talk.

Tony came over to him, doing up his last cufflink.

“How you feeling, Pete?” Tony asked quietly.

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Tony laughed.

“Yeah, I get that. But I’ll be right there the whole time, ok, kiddo?”

“Right,” Peter whispered.

Tony gave him a half-smile. “Mask on, Spidey.”

Peter yanked the mask over his face and instantly felt braver. He took a deep breath and followed Tony through the open doors.

The camera flashing was dulled behind his Spider-Man mask, but still nearly overwhelming, sweeping over him in a wave as he and Tony walked to the podium.

Peter stood next to Tony as he delivered an off-the-cuff speech about honesty and trust. His palms were sweating beneath his suit.

“With that in mind, Spider-Man has a few things he’d like to say.”

It’s like the entire room held its breath. Peter included.

Tony stepped away from the podium, giving Peter room to stand up at the mic.

“H-Hi,” he stuttered. A few reporters smiled. “As Mr. Stark said, how can we expect you to trust us when we keep secrets from you. So...”

He paused, took a deep breath. Then he pulled off his mask.

The flashing of cameras was brighter without his special lenses. He had to screw his eyes shut for a second as everyone took picture after picture.

“My name is Peter Parker. I’m seventeen-years-old. And I am Spider-Man.”

People shouted questions for a long time. Peter stuttered answers to some of them, but Tony took over after a few minutes, answering firmly and confidently. Peter stood behind him, his ears ringing, until Tony was done and shepherding him out of the room.

May was waiting with open arms outside. She’d arrived an hour before the press conference in a swirl of motherly concern and Peter had never been so happy to see her. He fell into her embrace and stayed there while she and Tony talked over his head about safety precautions, damage control, and other things like that.

After a little while, May shooed him off to change while she and Tony got dinner ordered. He had eleven texts and two missed calls from Ned, three texts from MJ, and about three hundred notifications from his previously unknown twitter and Instagram accounts. He sent a quick text to Ned, an even shorter one to MJ, and then turned off his phone.  

When he reemerged, unabashedly in his comfiest pajama pants and hoodie, he saw that May and Tony had both abandoned their phones on the counter as well. He trudged over to the couch, sat on the empty cushion between May and Tony. They both force-fed him liberal amounts of Thai food, plied him with his favorite sci-fi movies, and carefully ignored the news.

He fell asleep with the two people he loved most close on either side of him, and the possibility that the time loop might finally be over.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him. He jerked awake, discombobulated by the change in location. He hadn’t let himself think it the night before, but he’d expected to wake up either in his bed at the tower, or with Tony still asleep next to him, May burning pancakes in the kitchen.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Peter reached over and checked his phone.

_Ned: holy crap it’s happening!!! ITS ACTUALLY HAPPENING_

“No.”

He stood, staring at his phone. The date still read Monday, April 30th.

Letting out a string of profanity that would have even Mr. Stark horrified, Peter threw his phone as hard as he could against his bedroom wall. It smashed entirely through two layers of drywall and into the living room, the phone itself completely obliterated from the force.

“ _Peter Benjamin Parker!”_

Peter sat down hard on his bed and put his head in his hands. He could hear May stomping toward his room, and a second later his door flew open.

“What on earth possessed you to do that, Peter? Look at that hole in the wall!” May shouted. Peter lifted his head and May faltered.

“I thought we’d solved it,” Peter confessed hoarsely.

“Solved what? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” May asked, her anger forgotten. She came and sat on the bed with him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“We held a press conference to try to stop it and it didn’t work.” Peter’s voice broke.

“I don’t understand, baby. Can you tell me what’s going on?” She sounded worried.

“I’m in a time loop, May. I have been for two months. And yesterday, I thought... I thought we’d fixed it.”

“Oh,” May said. If anything she sounded more worried, probably for Peter’s sanity, but she reached out and pulled him into a hug nonetheless. He melted into her, tears burning in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Peter. Tell me everything, alright? I’ll call in to work and we can stay home and eat junk food, how does that sound?”

Peter huffed a laugh.

Every day for the last eight weeks, he’s been going out and getting beat up and cornered by press and having his face plastered on the news, usually with “WANTED” below his name. Staying home with May sounded like the greatest thing in the world.

“That sounds really, _really_ good,” he muttered into her shoulder.

May cried while he told her everything that had happened. Peter didn’t cry, but it was a close call. She held him and stroked his hair, and when he was done they curled up together on the couch and watched movies and Peter _almost_ forgot about it all.

Peter was half asleep, May scratching lazily at his scalp as he laid with his head in her lap.

Until someone knocked on their door.

Peter bolted upright, his heart immediately picking up in speed.

May stood to answer the door.

“Don’t,” he snapped. He was listening for whoever was on the other side.

“Peter, it’s just the door,” she said quietly, looking alarmed. She watched him warily as she stepped closer and pulled the door open.

Camera flashes immediately filled the space, reporters asking questions as May did her best to keep them from invading the apartment.

“Leave, right now!” She shouted, crushing a guy’s foot when he tried to step closer. Peter buried his face in a pillow.

“Leave him alone, you _animals_ , or I will call the police!”

Finally, Peter stood, walked over and grabbed the nearest camera. Staring the owner dead in the eye, he crushed it one hand, then slammed the door in their stunned faces.

Then he collapsed to the floor and cried.

May sat down next to him and held him.

When midnight rolled around that night, Peter was curled up on one side of May’s bed, her familiar scent all around him as she slept soundly on the other side.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him.

_Day sixty-five._

“We need a new plan,” Peter whispered to Tony, his head resting on his folded arms at the kitchen counter.

“Kid, you really don’t look so good. Are you sick?”

“No,” Peter said dully. Then he changed the subject. “I’m thinking we should stop trying to do this like... magicians, or detectives, or whatever, and do what we do best. Science the crap out of it.”

He tried to smile at Tony, but it felt so forced he let it fall almost immediately.

Tony sighed heavily and came closer. He rested a hand on Peter’s head, and Peter closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of being cared about.

“Ok,” Tony finally murmured. “Science. That sounds like it could work. What were you thinking?”

“A time loop would, presumably, cause an anomaly in temporal energy, right? If we built a machine that could sense distortions in the temporal field, maybe we could track down the energy source.”

Tony smiled at him. “That’s brilliant, Pete.”

Peter sat up and tilted his head to the side, considering the man in front of him. Then his lips turned up in a small grin.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just... sounded kind of... proud of me.”

Tony looked taken aback, and then scoffed. “Please, kid. Haven’t you heard? I’m a narcissist, I’m incapable of feeling proud of anyone but me.” He winked and nudged Peter’s jaw with his fist. “Come on,” he said over Peter’s chuckling, “that idea deserves a milkshake.”

Peter couldn’t help himself. He laughed aloud. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to do so.

“It’s 7:30 in the morning,” he pointed out, still smiling.

“Are you saying you _don’t_ want a milkshake?” Tony called, already grabbing his coat.

Peter hurried after him. “It better be chocolate.”

“Obviously, I’m not a savage,” Tony said, waiting just long enough that he could throw his arm over Peter’s shoulder.

The project could wait a couple hours.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him.

 _Day seventy-one_ , he thought. He had a routine by this point: get up, get dressed, go to the tower and spend the day in the lab with Tony, trying to figure something out.

Every day, Tony welcomed him in with concern written on his face. Some days Peter went more for that, more for the way Tony brushed his hair back from his forehead or tipped his chin up and looked intently at him, than for the lab equipment and Tony’s ideas.

“How... how you holdin’ up, kid?” Tony asked that day, like he was trying to sound nonchalant.

Peter shrugged. “Fine. These results are almost ready.” He was trying to find a metal that would conduct enough electricity to allow him to measure temporal energy. He was on his fiftieth different alloy.

“No, I meant...” Tony gestured vaguely towards his head. “You’re not the only one who’s seen movies, Pete. I know stuff like this can take it’s toll.”

“You mean am I about to kidnap a groundhog and drive off a cliff in a stolen truck,” Peter asked blankly, staring at the holographic screen in front of him.

Tony choked slightly on the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken. “Jeez, kid. That’s a bit more vivid of a picture than I was thinking, but that’s generally the direction I was going, yeah.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Stark,” Peter assured him, offering a half-hearted smile. “I’m nowhere near desperate enough to try that.”

Tony looked at him for a second as if making sure he was telling the truth. “Good.” He made to turn back to his own work, a design for a portable monitor for temporal anomalies.

“Though sometimes I wonder...”

“Wonder what?” Tony snapped, his eyes fixed on Peter. Peter shrugged casually.

“If that’s why they did this. If they knew the only way out was to die and they wanted to get rid of me and this seemed easier than killing me themselves.”

Tony’s face paled a little. He leaned forward and made sure Peter was looking at him before he spoke again.

“That isn’t the only way out. There’s a solution to this, and we’re going to find it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“Promise me, Peter.” Tony’s voice was more serious than Peter had ever heard before.

“I promise.”

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him.

_Day eighty-eight._

Their work on the monitor was slow, and every day they had to start over. Peter was out of ideas though. He just kept trying to go faster, to do better. Each failure was more knowledge, he figured, less time wasted in the loop.

It was still hard, looking at the half-assembled contraption, and then looking at the clock, and realizing he’d have to start all over again.

His identity had been revealed so many times he was starting to become numb to it. Today Ned’s phone had been stolen and their texts about Peter’s patrols leaked to the whole school. When Peter heard about it from MJ, he’d just rolled his eyes and turned his phone off.

Peter sighed as the clock flipped over to 11:55. “That’s another day gone.”

He was tired. So, so tired. Did he even sleep, he wondered, in the hours between blacking out at midnight and waking up at seven? Or did the next Monday pick up immediately after the last one ended?

He rubbed his forehead, the headache behind his eyes making itself known.

“You ok there, kid?” Tony asked, watching him.

“Nothing that won’t be fixed in five minutes.”

Tony crossed over to him, standing behind him and rubbing hard at Peter’s shoulders and neck.

“Agh, that hurts,” Peter complained, trying to pull away.

“That’s cause you’re tenser than a tightrope. I thought I was supposed to be the old one?”

“Trust me, no one’s taking that title away from you.” Tony stopped massaging Peter’s shoulders and spun his stool around so Peter was facing him. His glare was half-hearted, softened by concern.

“Could’ve fooled me with those bags under your eyes, Pete,” he said. Peter shrugged. “You’ve been working really hard.”

“I have to, if I ever want this to end,” Peter sighed. Then he drudged up a smile. “Never been so excited for a Tuesday.”

Tony considered him for a moment. “Come here,” Tony said, holding his arms open. Peter raised his eyebrows, but stood and stepped into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Tony’s ribs.

“You know _I’m_ not going to forget this tomorrow right?”

“Yeah. Shut up.”

Peter tipped his chin up to rest on Tony’s shoulder. FRIDAY was projecting a clock on the wall behind him—a constant reminder of their deadline.

_11:59_

Tony rubbed his back. Peter weighed his next words on the tip of his tongue, watching the seconds tick by.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said, just to see how it felt.

“You’re a punk.”

Peter grinned. Tony kissed his hair.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him. He opened his eyes with a sigh, but recalled the night before and smiled. Tony wouldn’t remember, but he did, and it was as much a comfort now as it had been then.

Maybe, when all this was over, Peter would tell Tony everything that happened.

But today, he still had a time loop to stop.

He went over to the tower as usual and he and Tony spent the morning and afternoon rebuilding the... well... they didn’t have a name for it. The temporal energy monitor. He figured if they did it enough times, they could get their time down and actually have it finished within a loop and be able to get information from it.

It wasn’t the greatest plan ever, but it was all he had.

As it got later, however, Peter got antsier, wondering how his identity would be revealed that day, only for an alarm to sound as Tony received an alert.

“There’s a superpowered individual causing problems in Queens and local law enforcement has requested your intervention,” FRIDAY announced.

Peter’s gut twisted, but he stood up with Tony.

Tony looked him up and down and sighed. “Yeah, alright. But follow my lead.”

Peter nodded and hurried off to change into his suit.

They arrived in Queens ten minutes later and quickly found said ‘individual’ punching cars out of his way as he marched across the street.

“Yikes,” Peter muttered. “Aren’t you glad I don’t do that when I’m in a bad mood?” Peter asked Mr. Stark, trying to keep the mood light.

“Sure am, kiddo,” Tony responded, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice.

They dove toward the man and engaged.

The fight was short but brutal. Peter had a couple broken ribs within a minute while Tony barked at him to keep his distance. The problem was, the guy could rip Peter’s webs apart fairly easily, and the only real advantage Peter had on him was being quick. But he still obeyed Tony’s orders, falling back to a rooftop and watching carefully as he caught his breath.

Tony had worn one of his older suits because it protected him against harder hits, and he didn’t really need the extra firepower of the nanotech.

“Whoa,” Peter shouted as he watched the guy grab the suit and _jump_ to the six-story roof of a building across the street.

“Stay back,” Tony snapped, forcing his way out of the man’s grip. “I’m fine.”

Peter bit his lip, prepped at any second to go to Tony’s aid.

In the end, he wasn’t fast enough.

The guy grabbed Tony’s helmeted head and smashed it against the concrete side of the building.

Peter heard Tony’s quiet gasp of pain over the comms, and then nothing.

“Tony!”

“He’s unconscious,” Karen reported. “Part of the suit controls were damaged.”

Peter ran, preparing to leap the distance between the buildings, trying to get to Tony, but just as he jumped, the man _threw_ Tony over the edge.

He was still unconscious. FRIDAY couldn’t get enough control to slow him.

There was a sickening _crunch_ as Tony hit the pavement, and buried in it, quiet enough only Peter could hear, the sound of breaking bones.

Peter fumbled his landing on the other roof, rolling for several feet before he stilled. And then he was scrambling up, ignoring the protesting joints and muscles in his body.

Peter didn’t care that the criminal was getting away. He was just focused on the way the Iron Man suit was sprawled on the ground, on the distinct _crack_ Peter had heard as Tony hit the ground.

He leapt from the rooftop, landed hard on his feet and tripped his way toward the motionless suit.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter clawed at the face plate of the Iron Man suit. “Mr. Stark!” His fingers scrabbled at the cold metal, digging his short nails into the seams and pulling, the metal grinding and sparking as he tugged it off and threw it aside.

Tony’s face was pale, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

“Tony!” Peter gasped, his vision blurry as he ripped the chest plate away, too, tore at the suit trapping Tony. The sharp edges and electric bursts bit through the Spider-Man suit, cutting up Peter’s hands.

Karen was talking in his ear, her voice fading in and out. “…one, Pet… RIDAY says... no pulse... didn’t hurt. Peter. He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

Peter took his own mask off, too, throwing it next to the iconic Iron Man one. The air was cool on his overheated face, freezing against the tear tracks.  

He was suddenly hyper-aware of his own heartbeat: the way his breaths caught and sputtered in his throat; the pathetic whimper he couldn’t quite stop.

Peter lifted Tony’s half-exposed arm and crawled under it, draping it over himself like an embrace as he laid on the damp asphalt. He curled into Tony like they were going to sleep, like he was a child seeking comfort after a nightmare.

“I want to wake up now,” Peter hiccupped into the space between them. He pressed his forehead against Tony’s still warm chest. “Please, I want to wake up.”

 

 

He closed his eyes and willed that familiar buzzing to wrench him away from here.

The pavement and Tony’s motionless body slowly leeched heat from him. He was trembling.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed before he heard sirens. Someone must have seen them, called the police. He didn’t care. He kept both bloody hands clenched around Tony’s shirt, the heavy weight of Tony’s arm across his shoulders.

He heard cameras clicking. It disgusted him, but he didn’t tell them off. All the pictures, all the posts and articles would be gone in the morning.

The police arrived at some point. He heard them from ten blocks away, timed it in his mind. Four cars pulled up, tires squealing, sirens still blaring loud enough to make Peter’s head spin. Car doors opened and heavy boots thudded onto the pavement.

“Are they both…?”

“My word.”

“Get the people back. We don’t need this plastered all over Twitter.”

“Spider-Man’s just a kid, holy crap.”

“I think Spidey’s alive. He doesn’t look hurt.”

“Stark’s dead.”

Stark’s dead.

_Stark’s dead._

Hands were on Peter, then. They tried to pull him away, murmurs of “it’s alright, son,” and “come on, kid, we’ll take care of him” hovering above him, never quite sinking in. He just held on tighter. He wouldn’t leave Tony.

It took four officers, pulling hard enough that Tony’s shirt tore in Peter’s hands, to get him away. There was an ambulance there now, and EMT’s came rushing forward and there were hands on Peter’s back, sitting him up, trying to pry the torn fabric from his hands and the flashing red lights were so bright and _Tony was dead._ And it would all start over tomorrow.

Peter bolted, on his feet and on the wall and on the roof of the building next to them faster than anyone else could react. There were shouts as they saw him vault over the edge, people telling him to come back, the sound of cameras clicking furiously behind him. He left his mask. He didn’t go back to get it. His face was already on every news channel in the world anyway.

He went home, didn’t bother being secretive as he crawled through his bedroom window. He collapsed to his knees on the floor and pressed the release on the suit. It pooled around him, leaving him shivering as rain-cool air came through the open window. His breathing was arrhythmic; not quite sobbing, not quite hyperventilating.

May must have been listening at his door. She came in, tears streaking down her face. Her expression crumpled when she saw him.

“Oh, my baby,” she said, then she was sweeping him into a hug, both kneeling on his scratchy carpet. Peter leaned against her, too out of it to hug her back. He just let her hold him, run her fingers through his sweaty hair. May seemed to find his lack of tears concerning.

“You’re in shock, Peter,” she murmured. She pulled away from him and Peter almost tipped over. “Let me close the window and we’ll get you into bed, ok?”

The window thunked shut and Peter flinched. May came back to him, tugged him upwards. She kicked the Spider-Man suit away, led Peter towards his bed. She pushed him until he was laying down, pulling the blankets over him and tucking them under his chin like he was still a little kid.

Peter thought she was going to leave after that, but instead she just turned off the light and came back to the bed, crawling over Peter and curling up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” May whispered. “I’m so sorry. But it’s going to be ok, alright? We’ll handle everything tomorrow, for now we’ll just... we’ll just stay here together and you... you can cry all you want, ok, baby? You can cry and I’ll hold you all night, I promise.”

Would the loop bring him back? Or would it just keep going without Tony there?

Peter didn’t think he could make it through if Tony wasn’t there.

Suddenly the weight of May’s arm felt so much like Tony’s limp hold, like clinging to his body.

A hiccupping sob escaped Peter before he could stop it, and then another. May pulled him closer and Peter was infinitely grateful to have her there.

He cried himself to sleep. May held him the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: blood (this chapter is the reason this story has a T rating, and it's primarily for blood, but I wouldn't necessarily say it's graphic), temporary character death
> 
> This weeks art is our first collab piece! Starlight_sparks did the line are and the-reverse-mermaid did the color and I'm thrilled for you to see it!

_Would the loop bring him back? Or would it just keep going without Tony there?_

_Peter didn’t think he could make it through if Tony wasn’t there._

_Suddenly the weight of May’s arm felt so much like Tony’s limp hold, like clinging to his body._

_A hiccupping sob escaped Peter before he could stop it, and then another. May pulled him closer and Peter was infinitely grateful to have her there._

_He cried himself to sleep. May held him the whole time._

* * *

 

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. May was gone, like he knew she would be. Scrambling for his phone, Peter ignored the text from Ned and immediately dialed Tony’s number.

It rang and rang.

“Please no,” Peter whispered as Tony’s voicemail started. He yanked the phone away from his ear, blindly stabbing at it until the call ended.

He didn’t even bother changing out of his pajamas as he clambered out the window, pausing only long enough to grab his webshooters off his desk.

He was still in the basketball shorts and t-shirt he'd worn to bed, he hadn't even told May he was leaving, but none of that mattered as much as getting to Tony right that second; as seeing that Tony was alive and Peter's universe hadn't just imploded for the third time in his life.

People called out to him and pointed as he swung past, but he ignored them.

He got to Stark Tower in record time, clambering clumsily over the balcony railing.

“Open the door, FRI,” he panted, running forward headlong. As soon as he was in the living room, he started calling for Tony.

“Kid?”

Peter whirled, looking toward the hallway to the bedrooms.

Tony was standing there in pajama pants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair sticking up. He was still squinting like he was trying to wake up.

Peter’s knees went weak with relief. He hadn't realized how much he doubted that Tony was alive until he saw him standing there.

“Did you swing here?” Tony asked, his voice a little gravely from sleep. “You’re not even wearing your mask—”

He was cut off as Peter, moving faster than the human eye could see, bolted forward and nearly tackled him in a hug. Tony stumbled backward a couple steps, his arms instinctually coming up and wrapping around Peter’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony said, his voice soft and concerned.

Peter ducked his head, trying to make himself as small as possible in Tony’s arms. He could feel Tony’s heart beating, hear the air in his lungs as he breathed.

Tears pricked his eyes as Tony squeezed him close, dropping his forehead against the crown of Peter’s head. He held him just as tightly as Peter was hugging him, just as fiercely protective and desperately affectionate.

“I’ve got you,” Tony whispered. Peter’s next inhale was tremulous, and Tony’s hand came up to cradle his head in response.

Gosh, what would Peter have done without this? How could he have gotten through without Tony’s constant strength holding him up?  

Tony didn’t even know what was wrong and he was still comforting Peter, still holding him like he was keeping him safe from the world, like he was _precious_.

In the soft light of epiphany, of realizing something you didn’t know you already knew, it occurred to Peter that he loved Tony.

Peter swallowed hard.

“I need help,” Peter whispered, not picking his head up from Tony’s chest.

“Anything,” Tony promised.

Peter’s chest ached.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Tony’s voice was almost scared as he fervently said, “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”

Peter finally lifted his head, his eyes burning from tears. Tony looked at his face and made a sound in the back of his throat like he was in pain. His arms tensed like he didn’t quite want to let Peter go.

Peter swallowed back the tears and took a deep breath.

“I don’t think you can,” he confessed.

Tony’s brows drew together in concern. “Ok, kiddo. Come sit down, ok? And we can figure something out.”

Peter nodded and Tony led him into the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulling Peter down next to him. Peter didn’t hesitate before curling into Tony’s side, picking his knees up and tucking them against Tony’s ribs. Any other time, Peter would have been too afraid of Tony pushing him away to do that, but he needed something to banish the memory of Tony’s arm, heavy and cold, around his shoulders. And he... he didn’t think Tony would do that. Not after hugging him so tightly.

Tony shifted to make room for him, a warm circle of comfort for Peter to hide in, just for a little while.

“Something’s got you really freaked out, huh, Petey?” Tony murmured, rubbing a hand along Peter’s shin. "Is it cause of this?" He tapped Peter's bare cheek, like reminding him that he'd swung through New York without his mask on.

Peter swallowed. He shook his head. “I... I’m caught in a time loop, Mr. Stark.”

Tony looked at him intently. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. But it’s been three and half months and I’m...,” he hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. “I’m not sure how much longer I can do it, Mr. Stark. Yesterday was... yesterday was _bad_. And if it keeps going, I’m afraid it’s just going to get worse.”

“I’ve never seen you like this before, buddy,” Tony said. “What happened to scare you so bad?”

Peter looked at Tony, at the features that only twelve hours before he’d seen slack and pale and bloody.

“Someone died. Someone really important to me.”

Tony sighed heavily. They sat together for a little while in silence, Tony’s hand rhythmically rubbing up and down Peter’s shin.

“I’m sure you want to get to work on figuring this out. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, Pete. But... I think maybe you should take a day off. A mental break. You’re almost at your breaking point, buddy. I can tell just from looking at you.”

Tony sent him a small, sad smile. “How does that sound?”

Peter considered. The last time he’d taken a day off, reporters had practically knocked down his apartment door. But he’d sort of already taken care of the ‘identity reveal’ on his own today. So maybe he could have this one day, this single day without being afraid.

He forced a lopsided smile. “Can we watch Star Wars?”

Tony chuckled, relaxing against Peter. “I guess since you’re traumatized,” Tony said. It sounded like a joke, but Peter could tell he was actually concerned.

Peter didn’t say anything, just tipped his head onto Tony’s shoulder. It was 7 AM and they were both in their pajamas and yesterday Tony had died. Peter was content to not move for the rest of the day.

They stayed like that, shifting slightly and getting up to get food at random times as they worked their way through every Star Wars movie. Peter had spent a lot of time with Tony in the last few months, months for him at least, but this was different in the best way.

At some point, in the middle of Attack of the Clones, Tony broke what had been comfortable silence.

“We’ll figure this out, Peter. I promise.”

When Peter didn’t say anything, Tony ducked his head to catch his eye. “Hey, no time-travelling weirdo is going to pull one over on me. I’m Tony Stark, remember?”

He could still feel the dead weight of Tony’s arm over his shoulder; still hear the sound his spine made when it snapped.

“Yeah.” He could smell blood in the back of his throat. He curled further into Tony’s side and felt the man’s arm tighten around him.

That night, he fell asleep to the sounds of Star Wars and Tony’s heartbeat.

 

His routine didn’t change much after that day, but seeing Tony each morning always brought him a wave of relief, like finally scratching an itch. There was a constant anxiety thrumming under his skin, both fear that somehow he’d wake up and find that Tony was still gone or that it would happen again, to Tony or Ned or May.

He thought he had known fear before Tony had died, but it was nothing compared to after.

He was in the lab with Tony again. His spiel about the time loop had gone about the same as always, but at the end of it, Tony sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“What day are we on?” Tony asked.

“One hundred and two,” Peter answered immediately. And then, with a half-hearted smile, “It’s my birthday.”

Tony looked up. “What?”

“If I wasn’t stuck in this time loop, it’d be my birthday today.”

“Oh.” Tony blinked a bit. “Happy eighteenth, kid.”

Peter snorted. “Thanks.” He turned back to his research, Tony tapping into his phone for a minute before joining him.

A couple hours later, Tony left the lab. Peter just continued working, until Tony called down to him.

“Come on up, Pete. Lunch is here.”

Stomach growling, Peter happily left his desk, bounding up the flight of stairs to the living area and kitchen.

Tony was standing by the counter. Next to him, along with several containers of take-out, was a birthday cake, candles already lit and melting onto the chocolate frosting.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, surprise making him walk slower. As he got closer, he could see that the cake was Spider-Man themed, little webs and red and blue spiders drawn on in frosting, a small plastic Spider-Man sitting on top. _Happy (sort of) Birthday, Peter!_ was written in chunky letters.

 

 

“Don’t worry, the one for your real birthday will be much better,” Tony said. “This was a little short notice, but luckily a nearby bakery was willing to do a rush order for Iron Man.”

“It’s perfect,” Peter breathed, grinning. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s smile turned soft. “Blow out your candles before they turn into puddles, kid.”

Peter closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath. _I wish that I make it to my actual eighteenth birthday,_ he thought, extinguishing all the candles in one breath.

Tony was watching him when he opened his eyes. “Don’t tell me what you wished for or it won’t come true.”

“I know how wishes work,” Peter said, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Shouldn’t we eat lunch first?” He asked when he saw Tony cutting a big piece of cake for him.

“It’s your birthday, bud. It’s your God-given right to eat dessert first.” Mr. Stark held out the plate with a raised eyebrow. Peter took it, looking down at the little blue spider on it.

“Mr. Stark.” Tony paused and met his gaze. “ _Thank you_.”

Tony smiled, lightly brushed a thumb over Peter’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Peter.” 

 

They finally finished the machine in time to actually use it on day one hundred and fourteen. For the first time in weeks, if not more, Peter felt like they might actually beat this.

Before they could get started, they just had to run by Peter’s apartment and grab his suit.

Peter led Tony up the stairs, babbling happily. It’d been ages since he’d done that, and while Tony didn’t quite grasp everything Peter had been through, even he could tell how big of a deal that was.

He hoped onto the seventh floor landing and rounded the corner. Then he stopped.

Peter’s apartment door was ajar. Peter froze, staring at it for a second. And then the smell registered.

Blood. A lot of blood.

“May!” Peter called, darting forward.

“Wait, Pete,” Tony tried to caution, but Peter didn’t listen. He shoved through the door, took a few running steps into the apartment and then staggered to a halt.

It was a scene straight from a horror movie. There was blood splattered across the floor, spreading in a crimson pool on the cheap laminate. And there, on the fridge, written in dripping scarlet letters: _FOUND YOU_ with a crude spider drawing beneath it.

If Peter was still connected to his body, he would have vomited. As it was, he just stared at the person—the woman he loved more than anything, his mom in all but blood—laying amidst the horror.

Peter tried to take a step forward, but something around his waist held him back. He looked down, saw Tony’s arms wrapped around him. He was pulling, Peter thought, but it didn’t matter. Peter was stronger than him. He gripped Tony’s wrists and threw them off him.

He took a stumbling step, another. He was so close to her. If he could just hold her, everything would be alright. He just needed to wake her up, shake her back into awareness.

The arms around his waist returned and tugged. To his surprise, he was jerked backward, his sneakers skidding on the floor.

His hands went to the arms and only felt cold metal. He turned to look frantically over his shoulder, was greeted with the Iron Man mask.

Fury sparked in his chest like a wildfire. He tore at the armored hands, trying to pry them away. He would get one to budge only for the other to tighten around him. He tried to dig his heels in but they were still moving further and further from May.

“No!” Peter yelled, his voice breaking. “No! Let me go!” He picked his feet up, tried to overbalance Tony. They moved steadily onward. They were at the threshold, about to leave, about to abandon May. She was almost out of sight.

Peter reached out and grabbed the doorframe. He was still shouting. Distantly, he knew Tony was trying to talk to him, yelling over Peter, but he didn’t care. He just needed May.

“May!” His voice was shot, high-pitched and torn as he sobbed out her name. “Let me go! _May!_ ”

Tony pulled harder around Peter’s waist. The ancient drywall splintered, then gave way, showering them in wood shards and dust. Peter barely registered the splinters hitting his face.

He was pulled along until Tony’s back hit the wall, his arms still anchored around Peter’s stomach, the semblance of a comforting embrace.

They both slid to the floor, Peter held tight against Tony’s chest. When he continued trying to claw his way back to his dead aunt, Tony also hooked his ankles together in front of Peter, encaging him in a knot of limbs.

Peter clutched at Mr. Stark’s wrists, dropped his chin against his chest, and _screamed_.

The devastated sound cut off in a sob.

“Peter, calm down,” Tony instructed, his voice edging between firm and gentle.

 _“May_ ,” Peter whimpered. “Please, no.”

“I know. Calm down.”

The fight started to drain out of him and he sagged against his mentor’s chest, the back of his head thudding hard against Tony’s collarbone. Hot tears choked him as he gasped in air that tasted like sheetrock, stale cigarette smoke, and blood.

The Iron Man armor began melting away, feeling like a thousand metal insects crawling along Peter’s skin as the nanobites retreated into their casing. Cold was replaced with Tony’s warmth.

His neighbors were in the hall now, drawn out by his yelling. They watched in shock and horror as Peter struggled weakly in the billionaire’s hold, the remnants of the wall scattered across the floor. Someone was on the phone with the police.

Peter, weakly hyperventilating in his cramped position, became aware of Tony speaking quietly into his earpiece.

“Happy, I need you up here, now. I’ve got to get the kid home, leave the car running.”

And then Tony was speaking to him. “Come on, Petey. We’ve got to get out of here before the cops show up, alright?”

“I can’t leave her,” Peter protested as he was jostled by Tony detangling their legs.

“It’s ok, buddy. Come on, get up.”

Ignoring all of Peter’s arguments, Tony heaved him to his feet with both hands under his armpits. Peter’s knees almost gave out—all the anger and devastation were slowly evaporating, leaving him shaking and numb. Tony seized his wrist and ducked under Peter’s arm, tugging Peter against his side, and began leading him away.

“No,” Peter whined, tears dripping from his chin.

On their way to the stairs, Tony’s hand left Peter’s waist just long enough to grab the phone of someone filming them and chuck it into the wall, where it exploded into pieces. Then they were off down the seven flights of stairs, Peter’s head spinning like he was dying from blood loss.

They passed Happy on the way up. He froze when he saw Peter, looked at Tony for guidance.

“Keep the police off my back until tomorrow, Hap. Tell them I’ve got the kid.”

“Ok, Boss,” Happy said quietly, then he clapped Peter gently on the side of the face and went up.

Tony maneuvered Peter into the passenger’s seat of the car waiting for them, buckling him up when Peter made no move to. They sped off into the New York traffic in silence.

Peter knew shock was setting in. He was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, and the tears racing down his cheeks were slowing.

Tony turned the heat in the car up, carefully directed the vents at Peter.

“She’s going to be fine.”

“ _What?_ ” Peter croaked in disbelief, turning to stare at him.

Tony looked at him straight on, his gaze intense. “You’re in a time loop. You’re going to wake up, and it’ll be today, and you’re going to be fine.”

Peter blinked at him, his eyes filling with another wave of tears. He swallowed a sob and went back to staring out the window. Tony sighed.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Tony whispered. He reached over and put a hand on Peter’s knee. Peter broke down crying again. Tony rubbed his back, driving one handed all the way to the tower.

He’d cried himself into a stupor by the time Tony shepherded him into his living room. Tony watched silently as Peter curled up in the corner of his couch, pulling his knees to his chest.

Peter wasn’t really sure what Tony did while he sat there, consumed by the loss of May. The man mostly stayed within reach, only occasionally leaving the room to answer his ringing phone.

After some interminable time, Tony came back and crouched in front of Peter.

“Hey, bud,” he said gently. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Not hungry,” Peter whispered. Tony’s brow furrowed, his mouth turning down.

“I know, kid, but you’ve got to eat.”

“No.”

Tony breathed out a long, slow breath. “Alright. Do you want to go to bed?”

Peter glanced outside at the still bright sky. “It’s early.”

“Yeah. But you could use the rest.”

“No,” Peter repeated.

“Peter,” Tony said. “She’s going to be ok.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Peter’s cheeks flushed, bitter anger coiling in his stomach, getting ready to strike.

“Yeah. So have some dinner, go to sleep, and when you wake up she’ll be alright again,” Tony tried to coax.

“I don’t want to eat!” Peter pushed himself off the couch, out of the circle of comfort Tony had tried to create for him. “I don’t want to rest, I just want May!” Peter yelled.

“Peter...”

Peter stared at Tony as he stood, his face tired and sad and compassionate, already reaching out as if to hug him.

He turned on his heel, walking toward the large balcony.

“Where are you going?” Tony asked, sharply, following behind him.

“I’m going to go find whoever did this and make them stop it,” Peter answered, only just realizing that’s what he intended to do.

“Pete, you can’t—”

“I’m done, Tony.”

“FRIDAY, lock us down.”

The lights dimmed as thick metal doors slammed shut over every window. Peter flinched as they all snapped into place. He whirled on Tony.

“What—”

“Peter, if you find them and they stop the loop, May stays dead.” Tony’s voice was calm, sympathetic, like he knew Peter couldn’t think straight passed the claxon sound of _May’sdeadMay’sdeadMay’sdead_ repeating in his head. “It’s as good as killing her.”

“ _She’s already dead!”_ Peter roared, his voice cracking.

“Not forever,” Tony promised, taking a few steps forward.

“You don’t know that. What if... what if he’s been watching me to see what destroyed me most just so he can stop the loop on the worst one? What if that was his plan all along?”

“I don’t think—”

“I can’t do this anymore, Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupted, his voice pleading. Tears were beginning to spill down his cheeks again. “I’m so tired. I am scared _all the time_ because I know that something terrible is going to happen, every. single. day.” He drew in a shuddering breath, taking a shaky step back as Tony closed the distance between them. “I have lived through every horrible thing I’ve ever been afraid of and _I can’t do it anymore_. Please, I need to make it stop. I need to find him and—"

Tony cut off his rant by taking Peter’s face in his hands and, without giving Peter a second to react, kissing him on the forehead.

Peter’s instinct to not hurt Tony was the only thing in the world bigger than his grief. He froze, closed his eyes. Tony’s thumbs swiped away the tear tracks on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Peter. I’m so sorry.”

Peter grabbed Tony’s shirt in both fists, looking for some anchor.

“I’m never going to forget that,” he murmured, his voice wrecked. “Every time I look at May, I’m going to remember what she looked like dead on the floor.”

“Yeah.” Tony’s face was that of someone who knew exactly what he was talking about.

Peter just looked at him, desperate and young.

Tony curled his hand into Peter’s hair and pulled him into his shoulder, letting Peter cling to him. He didn’t cry again, though he thought Tony was waiting for him to break down. Instead he just pressed as close to Tony as he could, counting the man’s breaths, the rhythmic scratching of short fingernails in his hair.

After a long time, so long Peter’s knees had locked and his arms were going numb, Tony gently disentangled himself. He led Peter, too tired to hold himself up and leaning heavily against him, back to the couch, forcing him to sit.

Tony knelt in front of him, unlacing Peter’s shoes and removing them. Peter watched in numb confusion as Tony kicked off his own shoes and sat next to him, tucking himself around Peter like a blanket. Using his arm around Peter’s shoulder, Tony turned them and laid down, pulled Peter against him. There was a moment of prodding and shifting, and then Tony settled, Peter half-sprawled across his chest.

“Lights, FRI,” Tony murmured. The tower lights dimmed to almost nothing. The steel gates still over the windows blocked any sunlight from entering. “And turn something on. We have a few hours to kill.”

“What would you like, sir?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Neither of them would be paying attention anyway.

An episode of Mythbusters turned on, the volume down low. Tony moved his arm a little bit, freeing it so that he could cradle Peter’s head in his palm, idly rubbing his thumb behind Peter’s ear, a soft, soporific motion.

Tony didn’t talk, just laid there with Peter wedged against the back of the couch as one episode finished and another began.

It reminded Peter of May. How she’d slept in Peter’s bed with him the night Tony died, her arm never moving from his waist.

 _This is what parents do when something happens that can’t be fixed,_ Peter realized. _They hold you_.

When Peter had reappeared on an alien planet coughing up dust, his cheeks caked with tear-soaked ash, Tony had held him. He’d seized Peter into his arms the second he was solid, shaking with his own sobs as he said Peter’s name, over and over. He’d cupped Peter’s face in his hands, pressed firm kisses against his forehead, smeared the muddy ash with his thumbs as he’d tried to wipe Peter’s tears away.

 _“Kid. Peter,”_ Tony had whispered, staring at Peter’s face like he was the only thing in the world worth looking at. _“I... You know that I—”_

_Stephen Strange interrupted them, forming a portal to travel back to New York, calling for them to hurry up._

_Tony looked conflicted, glancing between the portal and Peter._

_“Tell me later,” Peter said. Then he stood, pulled Tony up with him, and dove through the portal._

Tony never had told him what he’d wanted to say. Peter had a feeling he knew what it was, and maybe he should have brought it up himself, but he didn’t want to be wrong.

Instead, they ignored that vulnerable moment and let their relationship settle into something comfortable and easy. It was good.

This was good, too, Peter decided as he pressed his nose into Tony’s ribs.

Tony shifted, situating Peter’s weight more comfortably against him, running his hand up and down the length of Peter’s back. With the one eye that wasn’t smushed into Tony’s chest, Peter blankly stared at the TV, watching Adam and Jaime blow things up without absorbing any of it.

Because no matter how gentle Tony was with him, no matter how comforting the scene appeared to be, there was a clock in the corner that Peter could see even in the dim television light, and every time he looked at it he thought _five hours until May is alive again, four hours until May is alive again, three and half hours..._

In the quiet, Peter planned.

He’d go to Dr. Strange tomorrow. There was a spell Peter had caught a glimpse of while Strange flipped rapidly through a book. A spell that would make him remember back to the night this all started. And when he remembered, he could find the one who did this to him and do whatever was necessary to stop it.

Under the spell, there had been a sentence written in bright red ink, like a warning. Peter hadn’t gotten a good enough look to read it, but it didn’t matter. He would try anything.

He was just pondering how to convince Strange to perform the spell on him when Tony spoke.

“Peter.” Peter hummed. “Take me with you tomorrow.” Tony’s voice rumbled under Peter’s ear. Peter closed his eyes, buried his face more firmly into his mentor’s shirt.

“Where?”

“Wherever you’re planning to go to do whatever reckless thing you’re planning to do. Take me with you.” 

Peter had no idea how Tony knew, and he wanted to deny it, but the memory of Tony, dusty and bloody, cradling Peter’s face in his hands, looking at him like he loved him flashed in front of his eyes.

“Ok,” he croaked. Tony exhaled a heavy breath like he was relieved.

He looked down and Peter, hearing the movement, looked back up at him.

Tony’s hand came up to his cheek, and he traced a cool finger under Peter’s eye, swollen from crying.

“Go to sleep,” Tony whispered, “and when you wake up, everything will be alright.”

Peter closed his eyes, curled into Tony. He paced his breaths to match Tony’s and sooner than he expected, he was drifting off, the background noise of the TV and Tony’s hand in his hair lulling him to sleep.

He might have been dreaming when he heard Tony breathe, “I love you. So much, Peter.”

He was probably dreaming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late in the evening! Hope you liked it as much as the last chapter ;) I know it seems to cheap to kill off two people at the end of two consecutive chapters, but I had to end it here for plot reasons.
> 
> Also thank you so much for all the comments on last chapter, they made my week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rolls in two days late and in the middle of a mental breakdown: Hi. Sorry. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: umm... inaccurate science? Other than that, nothing
> 
> This chapter has our last piece of art, another wonderful collab! Line art by the-reverse-mermaid and color by starlight_sparks! This is one is particularly amazing and creative of both of them and I love it a lot. It has been awesome having fantastic art to post with every chapter, so thank you both again a million times.

_“Go to sleep,” Tony whispered, “and when you wake up, everything will be alright.”_

_Peter closed his eyes, curled into Tony. He paced his breaths to match Tony’s and sooner than he expected, he was drifting off, the background noise of the TV and Tony’s hand in his hair lulling him to sleep._

_He might have been dreaming when he heard Tony breathe, “I love you. So much, Peter.”_

_He was probably dreaming._

* * *

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him. He was up and running from his room almost before he was awake. He hurtled around the corner, skidding into the kitchen.

May was there. She was there and alive, the toast burning in the toaster. The floor wasn’t stained with her blood, she wasn’t pale and still.

She jumped when he ran in, raising a hand to her chest in surprise.

“Pete-“ She was cut off as Peter hugged her as tight as he could without hurting her.

“Are you ok?” May asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Peter ducked his head, wishing for the first time that he hadn’t grown taller than her, that he could still hide in her embrace.

“I’m ok. I’m ok, I just... had a really, really bad dream,” he lied shakily.

“Oh, baby. Do you want to talk about it?” She was rubbing his back like she always did, her familiar scent surrounding him. He breathed for a minute, closed his eyes.

“No, it’s alright now.”

“If you’re sure,” May said. “You probably need to get ready for school.”

He wanted to tell her he was sick, ask her to take the day off and stay here with him, watching movies and sharing that one ratty blanket they always used for marathons. But he had something he had to do.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah. The toast is burning.”

May swore, whirled around to pop it up. Peter laughed; May’s problem with burning food had never been so endearing.

He left just long enough to shower and dress, then he was back in the kitchen, watching May as she drank her coffee.

“Alright, I’ve got to run,” she said, rushing to grab her purse and keys.

Peter stood hurriedly, catching her before she left and pulling her into another hug.

“I love you, May.” He’d regretted not saying it the morning before.

“Aw, I love you, too, sweetheart. I’ll see you after work, alright?” She pulled away, smiling up at him. He kissed her on the cheek, then let her leave, listening to her footsteps as she descended the stairs.

Once he was alone, Peter called Tony.

“What’s up, kid?” Tony asked nonchalantly, but Peter could hear the undercurrent of worry.

“I have to go see Dr. Strange and you told me to bring you with me,” Peter said, leaving the apartment and locking the door behind him.

“I don’t remember saying that.”

Peter sighed, “Yeah, I know. But you did.”

“O...K?” Tony said. “Where can I meet you, bud?”

Peter smiled, touched by Tony’s faith in him. “I’ll come to the tower. It’s on the way.”

Peter gave his usual spiel on the drive over to Bleeker Street. Tony asked the usual questions, got the usual answers. But then at the end, he quietly said, “What happened yesterday? What made you decide to go to Strange now?”

Peter opened his mouth, closed it. He took a deep breath and finally whispered, “May died.”

Tony flinched. He reached over and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Pete.”

“She’s ok now,” Peter said. “And... and you were with me. So it was... better.”

Tony squeezed his shoulder, then let go to parallel park the car in front of the Sanctum.

 

Strange was resistant to preforming the spell on Peter, just like Peter knew he would be.

“I have to figure this out, Dr. Strange,” Peter pleaded. “And this is the only way, _trust me_. I’ve tried everything else.”

Tony rolled his eyes as Stephen refused yet again.

“Come on, Doc. He’s desperate. Just do your little magic show and let us get on with it.”

Strange whirled on Tony, glaring.

“I’m surprised you’re ok with this, considering how dangerous the spell is.” Tony’s head snapped up.

“Dangerous? Peter didn’t say anything about dangerous,” Tony said, sending a pointed look at Peter, who sighed and sat down heavily in a nearby chair, rubbing his forehead.

“It will make him relive every day that he’s experienced under the influence of the spell. All at once. If he gets lost in the memories, and can’t find his way back...” Strange trailed off suggestively. “It would be enough to make any man go mad.”

Tony cursed, pacing away from them and running both hands down his face.

“What are we waiting for?” Peter asked. Tony whirled, disbelief on his face.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a less terrible plan that doesn’t involve you _losing your mind_ ,” Tony snapped.

“He said ‘if!’ That means it might not happen!”

“Yeah, which also means it might! That’s too big of a chance for me.”

Peter looked up at him, face grim. He felt old, now. Like every day was another lifetime, and once it was over he had to go back and live another one. “Tony, I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t!” Tony yelled. He clenched his left hand, but Peter could still see it shaking. He crossed the room and knelt in front of Peter’s chair. Tony reached up, cupping both hands around the back of Peter’s neck before leaning forward and resting their foreheads together. Peter closed his eyes. “We’ll find another way.”

“And how long will that take?” Peter asked, gently grasping Tony’s wrists. “I watched May die. I watched you die,” he admitted for the first time. Tony drew in a sharp breath. “I _have to do this._ ”

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony sighed. Peter opened his eyes and looked at Tony, examined the fine lines on his face, the concerned furrow between his eyebrows. He felt calm.

“I’ll be ok,” Peter promised, “because you won’t let me be anything else.”

Tony chuffed. He pulled back, squeezing the nape of Peter’s neck once. “Dang skippy,” he said quietly, forcing a smile. Peter smiled back, anticipation starting to build in his stomach.

“Do it, Strange,” Tony said, stepping away, making room for Dr. Strange as the man came forward, his red cloak swirling anxiously around his ankles. 

“Fine,” Stephen snapped. “But don’t blame me if it goes badly.” He could see Tony cross his arms in the background. “I suggest you find an anchor, Peter. Something real to hold on to.”

Peter’s eyes flicked over Strange’s shoulder, where Tony was watching with his jaw set. He’d come to realize, slowly, as the days ticked by, that having his identity revealed wasn’t the only constant in the loop. Tony was, too.

He nodded to Strange, and the wizard started speaking, long foreign words that blurred together in Peter’s mind.

Peter looked back at Tony, whose wide eyes were bright with fear and the light of Strange’s magic.

 _If I don’t go insane doing this_ , Peter thought before he blacked out, _I’ll tell him that._

He was in the lab, sunlight pouring through the floor to ceiling windows.

Peter blinked.

“How does this look, bud?”

Peter turned to see Tony, holding up an element to the temporal monitor they’d spent so long building over and over.

 _I’ve done this before_ , he thought. He opened his mouth to say so.

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

Peter furrowed his brows. That wasn’t what he meant to say.

“Uh-uh, you’re the engineer here, Pete. I’m just free labor.” Tony smiled like he’d never been happier to be free labor in his life.

_Ok, try again._

“It’s looks good, Mr. Stark.”

Internally huffing in irritation, Peter tried to open his mouth again, to alert Tony that something was _really weird_ , that déjà vu was ringing in his ears, but found that he couldn’t. He just turned back to his own work table and started building.

 

He was at the kitchen island in the tower, swinging his feet since they didn’t quite reach the floor from the bar stool. Mr. Stark was standing at the stove, stirring pasta into boiling water.

“We really should be working,” Peter said, his voice tired.

“Not without some fuel, kiddo. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

 _I remember this_ , Peter thought. _This has already happened_.

Things didn’t repeat like this in his time loop—every Monday was different. It almost made it worse because he never knew what to expect, but now... he’d done this before. He’d sat in this chair and said those same words and... he didn’t understand.

“Peter? You with me?”

The scene changed before he could answer.

 

He was curled on Mr. Stark’s expensive couch. Tony was on the phone a few feet away. He could hear Pepper’s voice through the receiver.

“I know you don’t want to deal with this, Tony, but the media are all over this. They need answers. We can’t just let them say whatever they want about Peter and Spider-Man.”

“I’m not saying we should, Pep, I’m just saying we’ll deal with it later when I don’t have a teenager whose world just imploded sitting on my couch,” Tony whispered harshly. Peter wasn’t sure why he was whispering, he could hear him perfectly.

He knew what was going to happen next.

“When, exactly, is ‘later?’” Pepper asked. She sounded tired.

Tony glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with Peter.

“Tomorrow.”

Peter buried his head in his arms and cried.

He was expecting Tony to come embrace him this time around. He fell gratefully into Tony’s arms.

 _Tony,_ he thought, willing the man to hear him, _help me. I don’t know what’s happening_.

 

For the first time, Tony wasn’t there. Peter was very alone as he crouched in the shadows of an alley. His torn mask was still gripped in one hand.

Peter knew exactly what happened after this. His heart was pounding in fear.

 _Come on_ , he thought, _just get up and move. If you run right now they won’t find you_.

But Peter hadn’t moved the first time. So he couldn’t move now.

“ _Spider-Man!”_ Angry voices shouted. “Come out, coward. You let my son die!”

 _No, no, no, please_.

 

“ _Peter.”_ It sounded very far away, a familiar voice carried on the breeze. “ _Focus. The first night. Remember?”_

 

He was running through New York, leaping across a break in the roofs.

 _What?_ Peter thought, frantically trying to remember. The words were muddled. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears he couldn’t think.

The sudden chopping of helicopter blades above him broke him out of his thoughts.

 

His wrists were tied to a chair, his muscles feeling like overcooked noodles for how much strength was in them.

Two thugs were leaning over him, taking turns hitting him.

“What time is it?” Peter slurred.

One of the henchmen sighed, but checked his watch. “11:20.”

Peter exhaled in relief.

“Oh good. Just forty more minutes.”

“You expect something to happen at midnight, kid?”

 _Don’t say it, don’t say it_ , Peter tried to warn himself.

“Yeah,” Peter said, forcing a bloody smile. “I turn into a pumpkin.”

 _You idiot_.

The punches he got for that comment probably weren’t worth the moment of satisfaction.

 

Doc Ock’s arm swung at him, breaking ribs.

 

Five armed men were walking down his school hallway, MJ standing between Peter and danger.

 

He was sitting on a rooftop, watching listlessly as people walked around on the sidewalk beneath him. He didn’t even know what he was looking for.

 

The images went faster and faster, just seconds, glimpses. Enough for Peter to be jerked back into the moment, to feel the fear and anger and desperation, to feel completely out of control, then he was on to the next one, his mind spinning away.

 

“ _Peter, buddy, please. You need to concentrate. You’re getting lost.”_

He could hear the Iron Man repulsors firing. He watched as the enhanced individual they were called on to fight grappled with Tony.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

_Go, go now, please, you’re going to be too late._

He didn’t move, just kept watching as Tony’s head was crushed against the cement.

 _Please, he’s going to die!_ Peter shouted at himself.

There was a sickening _crunch_ as Tony hit the pavement, and buried in it, quiet enough only Peter could hear, the sound of breaking bones.

_NO!_

His stomach churning, Peter could do nothing but sit, trapped in his own mind, as he crawled under Tony’s arm and wept.

The grief was just as fresh, just as raw. It didn’t matter that Tony had come back, Peter found. All he could think about was how he was dead _now_.

 _Stop_ , he thought. _Please let it stop_.

 

“ _Peter! Come back to me, come on. You need to find the magician, you need to remember.”_

May’s blood was slowly staining the kitchen floor. Tony was dragging him backward as Peter screamed.

He was screaming in his mind too.

 _No more. Please no more_.

 

“ _Wake up. I don’t care if you don’t remember, you just have to wake up, ok? Please, Petey, come back.”_

_“Stark, calm down. Just let me—“_

 

There was a figure in an alley, muttering to itself as it made complicated gestures. Little circles of light kept appearing and disappearing quickly, emitting fizzing, sparking noises. Occasionally, two of them would collide with a bang and then vanish.

Peter watched, his head aching suddenly.

Blue sparks collided above the man’s head, illuminating a book and a plate with shriveled, blackened flowers.

“Hey, man,” Peter called. The guy whirled.

 _“Concentrate,”_ a stern voice commanded. Peter wasn’t sure where it came from.

The man’s features were long and straight, his eyes pale gray. Lank, dark hair hung over his forehead.

Head spinning, Peter fought him, momentarily gaining the upper hand.

There was a flash of orange light.

 

_“Peter!”_

 

__

 

Peter came back to himself gasping.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he heard Mr. Stark say close by his ear.

“I found him,” Peter panted. “Mr. Stark, I remember.”

“Great, now _breathe_ ,” Tony urged.

Peter peeled open his eyes. Instead of the chair he’d been sitting in, he was now on the floor, cradled in Tony’s lap. His mentor looked panicked, his eyes wide and worried. His hand was warm on the side of Peter’s face.

“What happened?” Peter asked.

“You scared me to death is what happened,” Tony said. That wasn’t an answer, but Peter found himself suddenly exhausted.

“Woah,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes closed.

“You’ll be tired for a few hours,” Strange warned from where he was watching in the background. 

Tony wiped at Peter’s cheek, belatedly making him realize that there were tears clinging to his face. He brushed them away quickly, sitting up in Tony’s hold.

His head swam as he did and he swayed a bit. Peter groaned and he dropped his head onto Tony’s shoulder. He could hear Tony’s heartbeat, fast with fear.

“Doc, seriously, is he ok?” Tony asked, his thumb brushing against Peter’s temple in what Peter suspected was an unconscious attempt to calm himself down.

He felt bad for scaring Tony, but he was honestly so exhausted and disoriented that he just slumped further into Tony’s arms.

He felt Doctor Strange hovering near him, gently checking his pulse and asking him to open his eyes.

“He’s alright. He’s just relived... how long did you say?”

“Four months,” Peter mumbled, closing his eyes again.

“Four months of probably rather traumatic memories in the span of five minutes. He just needs to sleep it off, let his metaphysical self align with his physical body again.”

Peter could practically feel Tony’s silent annoyance at Strange’s non-scientific explanation. He hid a smile against Tony’s shoulder.

“Fine. Kiddo?”

Peter struggled to pick his head up and open his heavy eyes.

“Think you can share what you learned before we let you take a nap on Dumbledore’s undoubtedly weird and magical couch?”

Peter nodded. The longer he went since waking up the worse he felt, but he needed to share the memory before he slept. He was terrified that he would wake up and somehow forget.

“Right,” he said. He shook his head to wake up and then pushed himself quickly to his feet. It was too tempting to fall asleep when he was curled up in Tony’s lap.

Tony got up behind him, joints popping, which Peter resolutely did not comment on.

The room around them changed with a small shake. Strange pointed Peter to a couch that looked like it might swallow Peter whole and he was pretty eager to let it. Tony sank down next to him.

“Alright, kid. You said you remember what happened?”

Peter nodded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. It was hard to hold his head up.

“I was on patrol and there was a guy doing something weird in an alley. There were a bunch of light flashes and stuff and I figured it was magic.” He looked toward Strange. “I didn’t want to assume he was a bad guy, so I tried to talk to him.”

Strange sighed. “Unfortunately most performers of the mystic arts are not, well, ‘good guys.’”

Peter rubbed his eyes, trying not to nod off mid-sentence.

“Yeah, this guy definitely wasn’t. As soon as I made myself known he turned and started attacking me. I, uh, wrapped a fire escape ladder around him,” Peter admitted with a bit of an embarrassed chuckle. Tony whistled in appreciation. “I though I had him, but suddenly there was just a burst of orange light and I was thrown back and knocked out. When I woke up he was gone. And the next day was ‘Monday: take two.’”

Tony and Stephen both sat thinking for a moment.

“The light was orange?” Strange asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Not green or possibly purple?”

Peter gave him a deadpan look. “Spiders aren’t colorblind, Dr. Strange.”

Tony snorted a laugh. Strange rolled his eyes.

“What was he doing before that, could you see?” Tony asked.

“Not really. There were... sparks. Blue sparks. And a plate with flowers on it.”

Strange perked up. “What kind of flowers?”

“I don’t know. They were all burnt up.”

Standing abruptly, Strange nodded. “I’ll see what I can find.” Then he disappeared.

Tony scoffed. “Show-off.”

Peter laughed, resting his head in his palm. He was starting to feel really, really dizzy.

“Ok, Pete, nap time,” Tony announced quietly. Peter hummed. That sounded unbelievably wonderful.

He heard Tony stand and then warm, calloused hands on his shoulder, his cheek. Tony pushed him until he was laying down, cradling Peter’s head in his hand for a long moment before resting Peter’s head on a cushion.

The couch did practically swallow Peter whole. He was so comfortable he was already half-asleep when Tony spoke again.

“I’m gonna go help Strange. If I can find him and don’t end up lost in an alternate dimension. You stay here and let your... meta-whatever align with your... yeah, I don’t get it.”

Peter snorted a laugh. Tony ran a hand through his hair and Peter sighed.

“And hey,” Tony said with forced casualness, “maybe let’s avoid having unknown spells that could make us lose our minds being put on us again, ok?”

Peter forced one eye open. Tony was looking at him, soft and vulnerable, his mouth pursed.

“Ok,” Peter agreed.

“Ok,” Tony echoed. He lingered for another moment, his hand in Peter’s hair. “Go to sleep, kid.”

 

When Peter woke up, the Cloak of Levitation was draped over him like a blanket.

“Hey, thanks, Cloaky,” Peter muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eye. He wasn’t dizzy anymore. In fact, other than the fact that he was starving, he felt pretty good. Especially because the memory of the first April 30th was still clear in his head, the features of the magician plain.

“Where’s Tony?” he asked the sentient cloak. It perked up, then showed Peter through a maze of rooms until he reached the large library Strange had taken him to the first day he’d come for help. Tony and Stephen were both there, pouring over huge tomes that looked like they could be bench pressed.

Tony looked up as Cloaky flew past him.

“Hey, kiddo. Sleep ok? Feeling better?”

Peter nodded, coming closer to peer over Tony’s shoulder.

“You read Sanskrit?”

“FRIDAY,” Tony said, tapping his glasses, “reads every language. You hungry?”

“Starving. What time is it?”

“About 7,” Strange chimed in. “You slept for almost ten hours.”

“Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly.

“No worries, Pete.” Tony stood. “You needed it.”

“And it gave us time to figure out just what ritual you interrupted,” Strange added, gathering Tony’s book into a stack on the table.

“Really?” Peter asked.

“He was in the process of a harnessing spell,” Dr. Strange said like that explained everything.

“Which can be explained over dinner,” Tony interjected, shooting Stephen a look that Peter didn’t quite understand.

After they were all sitting down to Indian take-out, which felt weird considering they were in an interdimensional sanctum of magic in the middle of New York, Tony finally turned to Peter, his expression serious.

Peter nervously swallowed his last bite.

“Alright, kiddo,” Tony murmured, in what Peter was beginning to recognize as the voice he saved just for Peter. “So, the Doc said it was a harnessing spell.”

Peter nodded. “What is that?”

“Well,” Tony started. It was weird to Peter that Tony was doing the explaining. It made the news somehow seem more frightening and more bearable at the same time. “Basically, it lets the person performing it take someone else’s power for themselves.”

“Put very simply,” Strange muttered. Tony glared at him. When he turned back to Peter, he leaned forward and put a hand on Peter’s knee.

“We think he was waiting for you to come try to stop him, so he could snag someone with higher stats than the average Joe.”

Peter thought about that for a second. It didn’t seem... too bad. Not compared to some stuff he’s faced. He wasn’t sure why Tony was being so... gentle as he broke the news.

“So... he wanted to take my powers,” Peter said. “But he didn’t. I still have them.”

Tony nodded. “That’s where we think the time loop comes in, buddy. Strange said that ‘metaphysical presence’ is heightened in times of amplified emotion.”

Peter’s ears started ringing. He stared at Tony, his mouth dropping open.

“He shoved me in a time loop because it would make me emotional?” Peter asked blankly.

Strange finally spoke up. “What you stumbled across was only the first half of the spell, Peter. The second half needs to be completed during a worm moon. Which April 30th happens to be.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. He looked back at Tony.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. Tony’s face crumpled a little bit. He abandoned his chair completely, opting instead to kneel in front of Peter.

“He needed you to suffer and he needed it to happen in a small window of time. So he threw you in a loop to let you... ripen, for lack of a better word, and has presumably been waiting for a chance to finish the spell.” Tony laid it out with a straightforward air that still managed to sound so apologetic.

“But... but he _hasn’t_.” Peter could feel confused anger burning in his chest, growing stronger. “I-I’m still stuck. I’m still—I’m still getting beaten up and attacked and chased and _people are still dying_!” Peter’s yelling broke off as his voice cracked. Tony wrapped a hand around his wrist, looking pained.

“May died,” Peter bit out. “ _You died_ and that wasn’t freaking enough? I’m still not bloody emotional enough for him to come finish stealing my soul?”

Tears were dripping down his cheeks unheeded, his breathing ragged.

When he asked his next question, he looked at Tony, even though Strange was probably the one with the answer.

“Is it going to get worse?” Peter finally asked in a broken whisper.

Tony trapped Peter’s face in his hands and met his eyes. “No. No, Peter. Because you saw him. We can find him and make him end it.”

“ _Tony,_ ” Peter whimpered. “He killed May.”

Tony seemed to lose whatever fight he’d been having with himself, because he lunged forward and wrapped Peter in a hug. Peter clung to him, sliding off his chair so he was on the same level as Tony.  

Distantly, he was aware of Strange watching them, but he didn’t care. He just held on to Tony, the now familiar feeling of his mentor’s arms around him anchoring him so he didn’t fall headlong into the grief and anger threatening to consume him.

“I’ve got you, buddy,” Tony murmured. Over his head, Tony spoke quietly to Strange. “ _Is_ he controlling the loops?”

“He might be manipulating the probabilities in some way, but it’s more likely that the longer the loop continues, the more chaos theory comes into play. The loop is slowly spiraling out of control because it takes an immense amount of magic to hold it together.”

Tony hummed and Peter felt the vibrations in his chest.

“I still don’t understand why he hasn’t come and found me yet,” Peter sniffled into Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s hand ran up his spine and buried in his hair.

“Because every day when something terrible happens, instead of running off into trouble like any other superhero would, you come to me,” Tony said, his voice low. “And he knows that I would rather die than let anything hurt you.”

Peter thought back to the night before, the hazy memory of Tony whispering that he loved him, and realized it probably wasn’t a dream after all.

Tony held him for another long moment, before pulling back enough to look Peter in the eye.

“You and me, we’re going to go home and have FRIDAY find our magician based on your memory. And then we’re going to finally put a stop to this, alright?”

It had been four months of hell, four months of thinking that he could stop the loop only to come up short. But now, with Tony looking at him like that, his hands gentle and warm against Peter’s face, Peter smiled and nodded.

“Let’s get him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! I turned the Irondad in this up by like 50% to make up for it being late, so I hope you guys can forgive me!
> 
> Just for clarification, only about half the scenes in the memory spell are things that have been previously mentioned, so that's why stuff seems new!
> 
> Thanks again for the wonderful comments, I appreciate them so much!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: threats of violence
> 
> An incomplete list of things I am bad at:  
> 1\. Fight scenes  
> 2\. Endings
> 
> A list of things comprised in this chapter:  
> 1\. Fight scene  
> 2\. Endings
> 
> Why did I do this to myself?

_“You and me, we’re going to go home and have FRIDAY find our magician based on your memory. And then we’re going to finally put a stop to this, alright?”_

_It had been four months of hell, four months of thinking that he could stop the loop only to come up short. But now, with Tony looking at him like that, his hands gentle and warm against Peter’s face, Peter smiled and nodded._

_“Let’s get him.”_

* * *

 

 

The next day, Peter rushed to the tower as usual. Before he even explained to Tony what was going on, Peter described the magician as best as he could to FRIDAY, having her run it through various police databases.

As she was searching, Peter launched into his usual explanation, but this time he was able to add, “But now I remember everything. I can finally end it.”

Tony smiled back, like he was trying to hide the worry. “That’s great, kiddo. FRIDAY, how we looking?”

“I have three possible matches,” the AI announced, pulling up pictures for Peter to look at.

“That’s him,” Peter said immediately, coming closer to the projected image. “The one on the left.”

“Info?” Tony asked.

“Cyrus Sparks, thirty-four. He has a record and an address in Bayside.”

“Cyrus Sparks?” Tony said, smiling incredulously. “That’s a magician name if ever I heard one.”

“Maybe it’s a prerequisite,” Peter muttered, a small grin tugging at his lips.

“Send me the address, FRI. We’ve got a wizard to find.”

 

Thirty minutes later, Peter and Tony were camped out on the roof of a warehouse across from the address listed for Sparks.

“Why is it always a creepy warehouse?” Peter complained under his breath, watching as Tony deployed tiny drones to infiltrate the place and get footage from the inside.

“This guy is really dedicated to the part,” Tony agreed. “You’ve got to admire that in a man.”

Peter hummed. The drones were reporting that no one was there, so he settled down for the long haul.

“You don’t have to stay,” he murmured to Tony as he stepped out of his suit and sat beside Peter, leaving the Iron Man suit on sentry mode.

Tony snorted. “Like I’m going to leave and just let wizard guy suck out your soul or whatever the crap you said.”

Peter clenched his jaw. “You don’t think I can handle him alone.”

Tony looked at him incredulous. “I didn’t say that, kid. But the stakes are a little too high for me to just go back home and twiddle my thumbs.”

Peter was quiet for a long minute. Tony kept one eye on him, one eye on the feed from the drones.

“We, uh, we’ll have a lot to talk about. Once I know you’re not going to forget everything.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked. Peter’s explanation today had been minimal, skipping the countless horrors and getting straight to what they needed to do to stop it.

Peter hugged his knees. “Like Ross,” he said, trying to sound casual. Tony’s eyes snapped to him.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing that matters anymore. But he knows who I am. Like... Peter Parker. He knows me.”

Tony sucked in a breath. “Yeah, we’ll... we’ll definitely have to talk about that. And maybe about why you look so...” He trailed off, looking Peter up and down.

Peter understood. He could feel it, feel whatever was making Tony look at him like he was afraid he’d snap at any moment. If only he could muster up the energy.

Sighing, Peter dropped his head into his hands. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Tony’s hand landed on his shoulder. He squeezed gently. Peter picked his head up and watched the empty warehouse for a minute.

“It’s ok, kid,” Tony said quietly. “We’re so close. It’s almost over.”

“I thought we’d ended it once before,” Peter mused. “Imagine my surprise when I woke up and it was still April 30th.”

“Pete-“

“What if it doesn’t work?” Peter asked, not caring that he interrupted Tony. “What then?”

Tony turned Peter toward him, grasping his chin so he couldn’t look away. “Then you come to me tomorrow and we try again. And if that doesn’t work, you come to me the next day and try something else. And again and again for as long as it takes.”

“Mr. Stark.”

“I’m not letting this beat you, kid, I’m not. Ok?”

Peter swallowed. “Ok. Ok.”

“I miss your smile, Pete,” Tony said earnestly. And Tony didn’t even remember the last four months, but this dumb spell had beaten Peter so thoroughly, had made him shrink and shrink until he hardly felt real, until Tony could tell just by looking at him that he was absolutely and completely broken.

He missed his smile, too, if he was honest.

He nodded a little numbly. Tony set a gentle palm against his cheek for a second, then turned back to the security feed, seeming content to let the moment pass.

 

The hours crept along. Tony pulled fruit snacks and granola bars out of practically nowhere, shoving them at Peter without even looking. Lips quirking up at the mother-henning, Peter took them and munched slowly.

“This guy is taking forever,” Tony complained, rolling his shoulders to work out a kink.

“Wizards. No respect for people’s time,” Peter said drily, raising a sardonic eyebrow. Tony laughed and the sound made Peter perk up a little.

Really, they were so much closer than they’d ever been before. They had an actual lead, an actual plan that wasn’t just shooting blindly in the dark.

Peter had never been one for pessimism. He was always the first to look on the bright side of things, to find the good.

_I’m not letting this beat you_.

Maybe Peter should stop letting it beat him, too. Maybe he should embrace the idea that... he could win. He had Iron Man on his side this time, the Sorcerer Supreme on speed dial.

If that was true, if they did manage to finish it, Tony would remember this tomorrow. For the first time, Peter wouldn’t have to swallow away the recollections of days spent together in the lab, of late nights working frantically until Tony came over and pulled him away from his desk, strong hands and soft words coaxing him to eat something, to go to sleep. He could tell him about the things Tony taught him, the coding and engineering and machines they had spent hours pouring over. The battles they fought and won together, the ones they lost.

He could remind Tony about falling asleep in his arms, about careful kisses to his temple. About cleaning off Peter’s blood, wiping away his tears.  

“Hey, Tony?” Peter whispered.

Tony’s attention immediately zeroed in on Peter, seemingly alarmed that Peter called him by his first name.

Peter took a breath, thinking about all the things he’d wanted to say to Tony over the last four months.

He needed to say thank you. He needed to tell Tony about all the times he saved Peter; from danger, from fear, from his own grief. He needed to tell him that sometimes he was the only thing that had kept Peter going.

But really, it could all be summed up in:

“I love you.”

He heard Tony’s heartbeat stutter. The man seemed to shrink in on himself, looking down at his hands.

“Kid... you, um. You know that if this works, I... I’m not going to forget that, right?”

Peter had never heard Tony sound so small and hesitant. Peter leaned over and pressed his shoulder against Tony’s.

“Yeah, I know.”

Tony exhaled heavily. He dropped his forehead against Peter’s head and smoothed a hand up his back, briefly squeezing the nape of his neck.

“I guess I’ve got even more incentive to make sure it works, now, huh?” Tony asked quietly, his voice taking on that warm tone he only used with Peter.

Peter smiled, pressing closer to Tony. “Guess so.”

After a long minute of just listening to each other breathe, they pulled apart. Peter looked at the drone monitors while Tony tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes.

“Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, Pete?” Tony asked, sniffing slightly.

“He’s here,” Peter said, tilting the screen to show Tony. Sure enough, there was a figure moving around within the warehouse, his features a little indistinct but still clear. It was Sparks.

“FRIDAY, call Strange, fill him in,” Tony instructed, getting down low so that if Sparks happened to glance out the dingy warehouse windows, he wouldn’t see them. Peter followed suit.

When Strange arrived in a swirl of gold, he crouched down next to them.

“Stark. Peter,” he greeted. “A rogue sorcerer?”

“Apparently,” Tony murmured. “He has a hold on our spiderling here that we need to take care of.”

Stephen hummed. “I see. So, I come in the front, you and the kid come up behind—”

“The kid’s not coming,” Tony interrupted.

“Um, yes, the kid is,” Peter argued.

“This is not up for a vote.”

Stephen rolled his eyes and stepped back, holding his hands up as Peter cast a quick glare at him before focusing back on Tony.

“I need to help.”

“Peter, you’re angry and you’re desperate and _you’re_ _the one he needs_. It doesn’t make sense to let you go in, Strange and I can handle him.”

“You don’t know that,” Peter said. “You’ve never fought him before.”

“Alright, fine, you wait here and if we need you we’ll call.”

“Mr. Stark, if you knew everything this guy has done to me,” Peter started, his voice shaking. “How terrible the last four months have been because of _him_ —”

“I don’t need to know, kid, I can see it all over your face. And you are not the kind of person to want revenge. And I’m not letting you give in to that.”

“Bull,” Peter bit out, stepping closer to Tony so they were nose to nose. “When I told you about Flash you told me to punch him into next week.”

“Pete-“

“Why do you really not want me to come in?” Peter demanded.

Tony huffed, looking away for a second. He shot a fleeting glance at Strange who was watching the argument impassively.

“You really want to know, kid?” Tony hissed. “Fine. You told me that all that guy needs to do is land a single shot at you and you’re gone. Absorbed or consumed or whatever the heck. Dead is dead. And I’ve already lost you once.”

Tony never brought up Titan. Never brought up what happened when Peter was dead. Normally it would have stopped Peter short.

Not after what he’d lived through.

“And I’ve lost you!” Peter snapped.

Tony froze. Peter thought he might argue again, thought he might pull the “it’s different cause you’re a kid,” excuse, but instead he looked at Peter for a long time and then deflated.

“We probably need therapy, huh?” he murmured, his voice gentle again as he reached out and pushed Peter’s hair out of his eyes.

Peter huffed a quiet laugh. “Probably.”

“Think they’ll give us a two-for-one discount?”

“Like you need it,” Peter scoffed. Tony brushed a thumb over Peter’s eyebrow.

“Ok, Doc. You go in the front. Kid and I try to rope the guy up from the back.”

“Finally,” Strange grumbled.

“And Stephen?” Tony said quickly before Strange could disappear through the portal he’d just conjured. He was still looking at Peter as he said, “Let’s make sure to get it right on the first try. I’m liking this version of April 30th.”

_Because I told him I love him,_ Peter realized with a blush.

“Please don’t involve me in your emotional family moments,” Strange said, grimacing. Then he vanished in a swirl of gold.

Tony rolled his eyes, but quickly sobered. “If I tell you to get out, you get out,” he told Peter.

“Sure,” Peter said.

“Ready, kiddo?” Tony asked, the nanobot suit reassembling around him. Peter pulled his mask over his face.

“Beyond ready.”

 

Peter took the southeast corner, crawling through a window ten feet of the ground. Strange was their distraction, walking through the front door, magic glowing around his hands.

“Cyrus Sparks,” Peter heard him announce. “You are in violation of sorcerer law.”

“Who are you?” Sparks snapped. Peter eased himself to the floor of the warehouse.

“Dr. Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme.” Tony, who’d slid silently through the back door, his armor spreading across his chest, rolled his eyes at Peter.

“I see. I must be quite the threat if the ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ felt the need to bring back-up.” Sparks rounded on Peter and Tony. They both froze in place, as if that would make him not be able to see them.

“Spider-Man,” Sparks nearly purred, a slow, Cheshire-cat smile spreading across him mouth. “So good to see you.”

A shiver of warning went up Peter’s spine, anger burning low in his stomach.

“Can’t really say the same, Cyrus,” Peter said, voice low.

Cyrus laughed. “Have a fun time, did you? I can see it in your aura. The fear. The pain. The _grief_. You’re reeking with it.”

Peter swallowed. Hearing the man who’d done this to him say those words with so much relish was enough to bring it all sweeping back, all the emotion and turmoil. The whisper of fear turned into a siren.

“Ok, that was super creepy,” Tony said, pulling Peter back to himself. Tony raised both gauntlets, aiming at Sparks. “Hands up, Merlin.”

“If you insist,” the man said with another twisted smile. He raised his hands, red magic swirling around them.

He shot a blast of light at Tony, who barely managed to dodge. The wall of the warehouse that took the brunt of the spell instantly caught fire.

“Kid,” Tony shouted.

Peter ran forward, snagging one of Sparks’ wrists with webs, using it as leverage to fling him into the wall. Before he connected, a glowing circle appeared and he disappeared through, coming out on the other side of the warehouse.

“I really hate that trick,” Peter muttered.

Strange threw a line of glowing magic at Sparks, catching his wrist more effectively than Peter had.

For a moment, it seemed like Strange had him. Then Sparks grabbed onto the line and pulled the loop loose, slipping his hand out of it.

“He can do that?” Tony asked, flying forward and punching Sparks in the face, sending him crumpling to the ground.

“Apparently,” Strange said drily, striding up and conjuring more burning ropes of magic, this time wrapping them fully around Sparks, pinning his arms.

“There we go, that wasn’t too bad,” Tony said.

Tony grabbed Sparks’ arm and hauled him up so he was kneeling on the cement floor of the warehouse. Peter approached, but Tony held his arm out, stopping him.

“Alright, Sparks. You’re going to take the spell off the kid. Strange here will know if you try anything.”

“No,” Sparks growled. He wasn’t smiling now.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Peter Parker,” Sparks said quietly. Peter eyed him warily. “There’s no need for a mask between us. I know you better than Stark here, better than you know yourself probably. Take it off.”

Peter took another step forward. He knew it was stupid, but he wanted to take his mask off. He wanted to look at Sparks face to face and ask him why he did it, how he _could_ do it. How he could sit back and watch Peter’s entire world fall apart every day and take pleasure in it.

“Kid, maybe—” Tony started, but Peter was already tugging the mask off.

“There you are,” Sparks purred. “So young. Practically a baby, isn’t he, Stark?”

Tony shifted, half-blocking Peter from view.

“That’s enough. Take the spell off,” Strange snapped.

“Why’d you do it?” Peter asked, his voice low.

“Pete, don’t.”

“What do you even want my power for? Huh? Revenge? That’s always what you guys are looking for, right?”

Sparks smiled again, that same slow, curling smile. “Oh, child,” he said, which grated. Peter was seventeen, would have been eighteen if this weirdo hadn’t messed with his life. “You have no idea what you’re capable of, do you?”

“Ok, seriously, I’ve had enough of this,” Tony interrupted. “Can’t we just kill him or something?”

“If you want to doom Peter here to an eternity of reliving the same day, sure, go ahead.” Sparks laughed when Tony cursed at him.

“He has to take off the spell himself,” Strange muttered. “Unfortunately.”

“And I can’t exactly do that with my hands bound, can I?”

Dr. Strange huffed. Then sighed. “No. I suppose you can’t.”

“Woah,” Tony said, stepping forward. “You aren’t seriously going to let him go, are you?”

“I’m going to readjust him. He needs his hands free to do the spell.”

“Relax, Stark,” Sparks crooned.

“Ok, kid, come here.” Peter walked over to Tony, eyebrow raised. Tony grasped Peter’s wrist, raised it like he was taking aim, and fired a shot of webbing at Sparks’ mouth. “Much better.”

Peter huffed a small laughed. He stayed close to Tony, comforted by his proximity as he watched Strange carefully undo the bands until Sparks could bring his hands in front of him.

In the blink of an eye, Sparks fired a shot of familiar orange light at Peter. Spidey-sense screaming, Peter made to duck, but before he could, Tony was stepping in front of Peter, wrapping the boy in his arms as the spell hit his back.

“Tony!” Peter screamed as Tony’s knees buckled. Peter held him up, tears filling his eyes.

“Not again,” Peter whimpered. “Doc, help me, help, he’s—please not again.”

Peter lowered Tony to the ground as Strange rushed over after rebinding Sparks’ hands. Peter cradled Tony’s head in his lap, tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin.

“FRIDAY, the armor, the-the armor.” The nanobots retracted around Tony’s face and neck. Strange immediately jammed two fingers against Tony’s throat.

“He’s ok,” Strange assured, just as Tony started to groan.

Peter gasped, wiping at his eyes with one hand, wanting desperately to be able to see Tony’s face.

“Mr. Stark,” he pleaded.

“I’m ok, kid,” Tony assured him, squinting his eyes open. “Man, that packed a wallop.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter sobbed again. He was trying to get control over himself, trying not to cry in front of Sparks, knowing that man would take some sick pleasure in it, but... gosh, that was too close. And too similar to when Tony had died.

“Why-why is he ok? What was that?”

Tony sat up but Peter didn’t let go of him, clutching Tony’s arms with both hands. Tony patted his arm, a little clumsily.

“That was the second part of the harnessing spell,” Strange said, examining Tony’s pupils. “Since he was never hit with the first part, it had no effect.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Tony said, smiling pleasantly, like he hadn’t just tried to sacrifice himself for Peter.

“’ _That’s a relief?’”_ Peter hissed in disbelief. “You could have died!”

Tony opened his mouth, turning toward Peter with a serious expression on his face, but Strange interrupted. “I think maybe this conversation should wait until I’m not holding a rogue sorcerer captive.”

Tony looked back over at Sparks, bringing his arm protectively in front of Peter.

“Right. Let’s get this over with.”

Tony stood up, the repulsor on his gauntlet powering up.

“Alright, Sparks. This is on its lowest setting. Do you know what that means?”

Sparks glared at him, his mouth still covered in webbing.

“it means it will hurt an awful lot when I blast you with it. But it won’t kill you. In fact, I could cover just about every inch of you in burns and you still won’t die. Do you catch my drift?” Tony asked, his voice low and intense.

Sparks glanced over Tony’s shoulder at Peter, his gaze hungry. Tony grabbed his chin, forcing him to look back at Tony.

“You don’t seem to understand. You either get shot a few dozen times, or you don’t. Either way, you’re taking the spell off. You’re not getting my kid.” The repulsor charged again. “What do you say?”

Sparks nodded, looking at the ground.

“Good little sorcerer,” Tony said. “Pete.”

Peter knelt in front of Sparks at Strange’s prompting. He looked the man in the eye.

He still didn’t understand how anyone could purposely make someone suffer the way Cyrus Sparks had made Peter suffer for something as pointless and burdensome as _power_.

Sparks looked back at him, that same hunger visible in his eyes, but tamped down with fear for his own wellbeing. Golden light formed around his hands and slowly, almost gently, washed over Peter.

After a moment, it was done. The second it was, Strange touched Sparks’ temple and the man went limp, collapsing sideways.

Peter blinked for a moment, at Sparks, at Tony. Finally, he looked to Strange.

“Should... should I feel different?” Peter asked apprehensively.

“No,” Strange said. “You probably won’t know until tomorrow if it’s worked or not.”

“Oh. Ok.” That wasn’t too bad, really, but he didn’t want to wait. He didn’t want to be disappointed again.

“Well, I’ve got to handle him.” Strange gestured to Sparks’ prostrate body. “Take care of yourself, Peter.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Dr. Strange,” Peter said, standing and stepping out of the way so Strange could form a portal.

“Stark.”

“Doc.”

And then he was gone. Peter sighed, turned to Tony.

“Let’s go home, buddy. It’s way past your dinner time.”

That was the third time Tony had referred to the tower as Peter’s home. Peter was pretty sure Tony didn’t even realize he did it, but it always gave Peter a little spark of joy.

“Dinner sounds good,” he agreed, smiling.

 

The first couple weeks of the loop, once Peter had started going to Tony consistently, they had had pizza every night for dinner because Tony always forgot they’d had it the night before. Peter had finally put his foot down, stating that he would probably never want to eat pizza again.

Tony didn’t remember that, but it still made Peter laugh when they got back to the tower to find several boxes of pizza waiting for them.

They ate on the couches, since Pepper wasn’t there and Tony didn’t care.

Peter tried to ignore how tired he was, how... disappointed he was that he still had to wait to see if it had worked.

“Kid?” Tony asked after a few minutes of silence. “You good?”

Peter sighed, put down his slice of pizza.

“You jumped in front of that spell,” he said quietly, picking at a piece of pepperoni.

“Yes,” Tony said simply.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“That spell would have killed you, Peter.” Tony also put his plate down, turning to look at Peter.

“You didn’t know that it wasn’t going to kill you,” Peter argued. His eyes were burning with tears again. He’d never been this emotional before the loop, but everything constantly felt so fresh, so drastic. It was like middle ground didn’t exist anymore.

“Didn’t matter,” Tony replied with a shrug.

“It matters to me,” Peter whispered.

“Oh, kid,” Tony sighed. He scooted across the couch, closing the distance until he could wrap an arm around Peter’s shoulders. He brushed his knuckles along Peter’s cheekbone.

“I get it now,” Peter confessed before he could stop himself.

“Get what?” Tony asked, tucking Peter under his chin.

“Why you always touch my face.” There was a moment of silence as Tony processed that and Peter worked up the nerve to keep going. “It was the last part of me you touched before I died.”

He would have heard Tony’s heartbeat speed up even if his ear hadn’t been pressed to his chest. He felt Tony stiffen. They didn’t talk about this. They never talked about this.

They probably should have. It would have saved them months of dancing around something that had been at the tip of Tony’s tongue when Peter was brought back.

“You died in one of the loops,” Peter told him. “Day eighty-nine. Some inhuman or something. He broke your spine.”

“Pete—”

“I was there. And after... I just wanted you to hold me.” Peter’s voice broke. “So I wrapped your arm around my shoulders and held on until the police came.”

“ _Kid_ ,” Tony pleaded. He buried his face in Peter’s hair, pulling Peter even closer.

“I can feel it, all the time,” Peter hiccupped, his voice thin. “And now I... I always feel like I need to touch you to make sure you aren’t dead. Like I need to replace the memory with one of you alive.”

“Peter. Oh my gosh, Peter.” Tony’s voice was weak, too, like Peter had knocked all the air out of him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Peter took a shuddering breath.

“I want to forget. Everything. I want to forget everything.”

“I know, buddy,” Tony soothed. He threaded his fingers through Peter’s hair, lowered his head so he could press their foreheads together. “But you can’t. You know that.”

Peter nodded reluctantly.

“But you talk to me, ok? You tell me everything, every second. I don’t want you going through this alone, Petey. Not again.”

Peter opened his eyes and looked at Tony. How many times have they been in this exact position in the last four months? How many times has Tony called him pet names and whispered encouragement and told him, both with words and without, that he was loved?

“I was never alone. You were always with me.”

Tony kissed his forehead.

Then they both sniffed and wiped their eyes, chuckling to disperse the heavy atmosphere.

“Movie?” Tony asked. He was still tucked close to Peter and it didn’t seem like he intended on moving, which Peter was fine with.

“As long as it has nothing to do with time travel, sure.”

 

To Peter’s displeasure, he found himself nodding off early that night. He had planned to stay awake until midnight, so he could know for certain if the loop was broken, but by 9:15, he was fighting to keep his eyes open. He was still bone-tired, still felt like he was being crushed by the weight of the time loop. It scared him.

“Come on, buddy,” Tony murmured to Peter, dislodging him from his extremely comfortable position curled up against Tony. The remnants of their dinner were still scattered around the coffee table, Jurassic Park playing in the background. “I’ll take you home.”

“Am home,” Peter mumbled. Tony’s hand stilled where he’d been threading Peter’s arm through his hoodie sleeve. His grip tightened around Peter’s wrist.

“Yeah, Pete, you are,” he whispered. Then he cleared his throat. “But I’m sure your Aunt’s wondering about you. It is a school night, after all.”

Peter groaned. “I haven’t been to school in four months. Going back is going to suck.”

Tony laughed as he hauled Peter up and started guiding him to the car. “Probably better than being stuck in a time loop, though.”

“ _Anything_ is better than being stuck in a time loop,” Peter said, his grave tone ruined by a jaw-cracking yawn.

The drive back to Peter’s apartment was a bit of a blur. He remembered music playing softly, rain pattering on the windshield. He seemed to feel Tony’s gaze on him a lot, but he was too busy dozing to check.

Tony walked him to his door, talking to May quietly as Peter stumbled passed.

“Pete,” Tony called before Peter could collapse on the couch. Peter looked over at him, blinking to try to stay awake.

Tony smiled at him, soft and warm, with a spark of humor in his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Peter agreed, grinning.

When he imagined the last April 30th, the last night of reliving the same day over and over, he pictured watching the clock flick over to 12:01, success and relief flooding his veins. Instead, May practically tucked him in at 9:45, Tony’s promise of tomorrow lulling him to sleep.

 

Peter’s phone buzzing on the nightstand woke him. And then it buzzed again. And again.

Peter jack-knifed up, grabbing for his phone, his heart beating fast in hopeful anticipation.

He dismissed his alarm with shaking hands. The date on the screen read Tuesday, May 1st.

A huge grin spread across his face, his eyes pricking with ecstatic tears. It was like a physical weight being lifted; where yesterday he had felt exhausted and _old_ , he was suddenly rejuvenated, suddenly eager for the day ahead of him. Even the idea of school didn’t seem bad—he could learn something new today. He could see his friends without constantly being afraid of his identity being revealed in some violent, horrific way. He could finally _move on_.

His phone buzzed again, and Peter quickly unlocked it, half afraid of seeing that same text from Ned. Instead, it was from Mr. Stark.

_Literally Iron Man: Come outside, kid_

Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He leapt out of bed and ran straight to the door, ignoring May’s surprised exclamation from the kitchen. He sprinted down all seven flights of stairs, aided just a little bit by his spider abilities.

When he reached the ground floor, he burst out of the double doors and flung himself at Tony Stark, standing on the curb in a suit and sunglasses with an aloof air that didn’t quite match his half-smile. Tony caught him like it was an instinct, letting out a grunt of surprise as he got an armful of elated teenager.

“Mr. Stark! It’s Tuesday!” Peter cheered into Tony’s shoulder.

“Sure is, Pete,” Tony said, a laugh audible in his voice.

Tony held him close, one hand threading through Peter’s hair. He was pretty sure he felt a soft kiss against the side of his head.

Peter pulled out of the hug just far enough to beam at Mr. Stark.

Tony’s eyes were bright as he looked at Peter, like he loved him. He cupped Peter’s cheek gently in his calloused palm.

“You did it, Peter,” Tony murmured, his voice ringing with pride.

Peter closed his eyes, leaned into Tony’s hand. “Wouldn’t have without you.”

Tony hummed like he didn’t agree but didn’t want to ruin the moment by arguing.

“Go get dressed, kid, and we’ll stop on the way to school to grab a celebratory breakfast.”

Peter perked up, his stomach growling. “Ok!” He turned to go back inside when Tony called to him.

“Nice Iron Man PJs, by the way.”

Peter just laughed, pushing through the door of his apartment and hurrying up the stairs so he could go to breakfast with Mr. Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, that's everything. Thanks so much for sticking around for my longest fic ever (woo!). I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, I just about die of happiness when I get comment emails, so please leave your thoughts below!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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